


Under a Gunmetal Moon

by beforethequeen, taketheblanket



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bottom Noctis Lucis Caelum, Canon-adjacent, Character Bonding, Character Study, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Roleplay, Slow Burn, Takes place during in-game Chapters 1-2, bed sharing, sexual awakening, tent sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethequeen/pseuds/beforethequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: For Noctis, the open road leads to awakenings: sexual, sovereign, and certain. As Gladio watches him grow into the King he's destined to become, he must make decisions on how best to serve him.





	1. Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an edited role-play written by taketheblanket (Noctis) and beforethequeen (Gladio).
> 
> Thanks for sticking with us while we write and edit this behemoth of slow burn GladNoct. Please let us know what you think at _feral-days_ and _df-starboy_ on tumblr.

 

 _Well I followed you down in a dream_  
_To the floor of a valley siege_  
_Under a gunmetal moon, on a river like wire_  
_And the ribbon runs on and on, on and on, on and on_  
_And when I wrestle you down_  
_Something blooms in the dark_ _  
So far back in me_

"Prime" - Shearwater 

The last hours of sunlight are burning off the foggy humidity from the rain earlier that day, causing Ignis to say the words Gladio had been waiting to hear, “We can set up camp in this area, no need to drive back to town.” Gladio would happily camp in the rain, but he knows the other boys would complain until they fell asleep and Gladio hates whining, even when it presents itself as frustrated silence.

Ignis successfully guides them to empty camping haven that the waiter at the last pitstop marked on the map, and Gladio lets the boys run off while he sets up the tent he keeps folded in the trunk of the Regalia. Prompto, Ignis, and Noctis disappeared down by the lake for the double-fold mission of collecting herbs and finding stuff to take photos of. Noctis wandered away with them, seemingly out of boredom and not any interest of his own. 

Gladio hammers the tent supports into the cracks in the rock, occasionally looking up and around to mind their surroundings. His friends are no longer in sight.

The sun is creeping down the sky and Gladio sweeps his gaze across the trees. Noctis is standing among the line of trees, paused and seeming to be watching him.

Noctis followed Ignis and Prompto towards the lake under the pretense that he would help them gather, but as the trees part way to a rocky slope, his steps faltered. The rocks are still wet, and it'll be a slow, slippery trek to the water’s edge where Ignis wants to root around.

“On second thought…” Noctis began.

 “No energy for an adventure, Your Highness?” Ignis teased, in a way that both chastised and forgave him. 

“There might be some good fishing!” Prompto tried, and it _almost_ caught Noctis’s attention, except he already turned around to face the campsite and his attention fixed on Gladio instead. Prompto does not try again, hustling away with an “Iggy, wait up!”

Now, Noctis watches Gladio with a quiet fascination that had only begun to brew over the last few days. They’d been on the road, driving together, eating together, sleeping together. It had been the most time Noctis had ever spent with Gladio. Time _like this,_ at least. Gladio had always been there, of course. Standing near the doors of rooms Noctis was in. Escorting Noctis and Prompto around town after class, from twenty feet behind.

Noctis tilts his head, watching as Gladio kick stones into a circle for a campfire. He’s probably standing twenty feet away from him right now. It’s the furthest they’ve been from each other since the road trip began, probably. Noctis takes a few noncommittal steps toward camp and resumes his study.

“You just gonna stand there and gawk at me?” Gladio calls to him with a small smirk on his lips. He has spent years of his life watching over this kid, and he swears most days he can read him like a book, even when he doesn’t want to. But sometimes Noctis is a right mystery. He wears his hair over his eyes and his lips are often an unimpressed frown. It’s a mask, a very careful mask, but Gladio imagines that from this distance, he can see a softening in the prince’s expression.

All this time spent together and the politeness the three of them uphold will start to slip into lazy familiarity. 

“Looks like work,” Noctis tells him when Gladio accuses him of gawking. Noctis isn't as lazy as he likes to seem, but he learned quickly as a child that no one would ever make him do anything he didn't want to do. And right now Noctis just wants to watch.

Gladio shakes his head and goes back to his task. Now that the tent is set up, he unrolls the sleeping bags to set inside. He splays them together, the edges rolling over each other. He kind of can’t imagine the four of them squeezing in together. The first night on the road was spent in an RV, the second in a dingy motel, and while Gladio brought all this stuff in preparation, he hadn’t consider how close they would be. He works with Ignis. Prompto is a new but fast friend. He’s looked out for Noctis his whole life, but he’s never _cuddled_ with him. 

“Awful tight squeeze in here, Highness.”

When Gladio turns back to Noctis, he finds the other man doesn’t look too concerned 

To Noctis, Gladio is so _capable_. He erects a tent in moments. Noctis would not know where to begin. Noctis wonders how often Gladio goes camping. He probably knows some great fishing spots and Noctis is suddenly offended that Gladio has never invited him. 

He watches Gladio try and fail to light some damp tinder beneath the damp logs inside the damp stone circle. Noctis smirks to himself. _Not always capable_ , he thinks. Admittedly, that's been the most intriguing thing to Noctis. How human Gladio suddenly seems. He feels ignorant, but he doesn't know why he didn’t notice it before. Before now, Gladio just felt like a presence in a room, or a weight on the spar mat. Now he is that and something else. He is just another guy, on a roadtrip through daemon-infested backcountry struggling to light a rain-soaked campfire. 

Noctis takes another few steps forward and the inside of the tent comes into view. He looks at the close proximity of the sleeping bags and then back at his bodyguard. If Gladio were to roll over in the night, Noctis thinks he may die of suffocation. Gladio is squatting beside the fire, expression tight as he stares at the grey logs.

An idea strikes Noctis and he acts before he can second-guess himself. From deep in his gut, Noctis pulls. Accessing his magic always feels like this, like unraveling himself from the inside. He grabs and pulls, unspools himself and manifests. He throws a fitsful of flames.

Gladio jumps back when the kindling suddenly erupts. He lands on one knee and looks up at Noctis to gauge his danger level, a hand reaches for his sword, when the smirk on the prince’s face reveals the origin of the fire. Gladio pulls himself to his feet and looks down at Noctis 

“You brat. You gotta watch where you’re throwing those things.”

Gladio grabs a handful of dry wood and drops it into the flames. It crackles and bursts into a sizeable fire. Ignis will be pleased. “I don’t know if I can trust your aim.”

The two of them have been training together since Noctis was a young kid, and while Gladio is only three years older, it felt like so much more when they were children. After Gladio took the younger man down on the mat a few times, Noctis decidedly didn't want to hear what he had to say. Gladio was told by his father as a child that he and Noctis would become friends over their lifetime together, but Gladio was frustrated that it did not happen soon enough. Their partnership was made of training and watchfulness, not friendly hangouts. Over time, Noctis became a skilled fighter under his care, but his technique leaves something to be desired, and with elemancy being so fickle, Gladio doesn’t want the troubled prince’s unpredictable magic thrown his way. Swords and sparring he can handle. Magic and spells are another thing.

Gladio busies himself with setting out the cooler, the table for Ignis to prepare the meal on, and unfolding the canvas chairs beside the fire. The evening air is crisp and a little breezy, and Gladio loves the way it makes him feel. He’s out in nature, far from reality. It’s just him and some guys and his charge, who sometimes feels like a friend.

Once there’s a single chair setup Noctis is drawn to it like a fly to honey. He tugs his boots off warms his socked feet by his fire. Gladio complains about his magic but Noctis knows he’s impressed. 

He can't help by watch Gladio as he finds things to fuss with around the campsite. The landscape is beautiful, but he's been staring at it for hours out the window of the Regalia, and he's already tired of rocks and trees.

Noctis feels like there are things he's never noticed about Gladio, like _how tall_ his bodyguard actually is, or how many scars crosshatch over his exposed skin. Well, the exposed skin is new. It seems like the further they get from the regulations of Royal Court, the less clothing Gladio finds necessary. Noctis imagines Gladio camping in the foothills of Insomnia wearing nothing at all, prowling the woods like a beast. Maybe the tattoos are camouflage. Noctis laughs out loud.

Gladio turns to face him, blank and impassive as he takes him in. _Evaluate the threat,_ Noctis hears in his head, in Gladio’s voice. _Study your target, know his next move before he knows it himself._

Noctis is used to doing exactly that with Gladio on the sparring mat, looking for subtle twitches in his arms or chest that would give away his next attack. He remembers the first time he had successfully used warp dodges to evade swing after swing of Gladio’s wooden sword in practice. Noctis was getting off on besting him, and he did not stop until he was plunged into stasis. He had collapsed to his knees, vomiting the water he drank before practice. Gladio was leaning on his sword, sweating and panting, looking at Noctis with an expression that held both disgust and pride.

Off the mat, however, Noctis struggles to read him. Probably because he's never tried. His eyes skim over him, from head to toe, but Noctis isn't sure exactly what he's looking for. His eyes return to Gladio’s face and hover there for a moment. He has gotten out of the habit of looking at Gladio’s face almost entirely, haunted by split skin and his mask of blood from that encounter in the alley. Studying him now, Noctis can see that he healed well. Noctis guesses that, if anything, the scar only makes him more intriguing to people, his face still handsome beneath it, imploring one to ask for the story. Noctis knows the story. Finally, he looks away from his Shield and surveys the camp.

“Nice digs,” he compliments. “Why don't you sit down and enjoy it?”

Gladio stops checking the supports on the tent when he hears Noctis’ voice. He looks over his shoulder from where he is crouched to find Noctis sprawled in a chair by the fire, already making himself comfortable. Noctis is a picture of leisure, slumped and easy and not worried about the threats around them. Gladio wonders if he’ll always have to be the one to do all the thinking.

Gladio stands and walks to the chairs. He feels like he should counter that he has work to do, but he is finished setting up and distantly knows he is fidgeting for the sake of busying his hands. He doesn’t know what there is to object to in taking a seat next to the prince. So he does.

Gladio leaves a seat between them and leans back, hands behind his head surveying the area around the haven: open field to the east leading downhill to a lake and a thicket of trees in every other direction. Their other traveling companions are still out in the wilderness, but the sun isn’t low enough for Gladio to go looking. He knows Ignis won’t let Prompto stray from his sight, and Gladio has been working with Ignis long enough to know that the other man would not dare be left outside during nightfall. Gladio’s trust in Ignis tells him he should relax and enjoy the fire. He crosses an ankle over a knee and scrubs his hands down his face.

“Good night for camping,” Gladio tries.

“Yeah, seems like it,” Noctis says, his voice airy and disinterested.

“I'm glad we got to do this before we got on the boat.”

“Yeah, you brought all this equipment,” Noctis gestures loosely around them.

“It was either bring it or buy new stuff in Altissia. I gotta go camping there.”

“You've never been to Altissa, huh?” Noctis asks. “It's pretty developed.”

Gladio frowns. “No. But I can drive out to find a place.”

“You like camping that much?”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, sitting up a fraction straighter now that Noctis has asked him about his hobby. “It's freeing. The air is nice. There is no one around but you or your buddies, you can get up to some wild stuff when there no one watching over you.”

“What about when you're camping with the people assigned to watch over you?” Noctis asks. The question is a little heavy, but his tone is teasing.

“Who says there's no room for misbehaving now?”

“Misbehaving,” Noctis muses, leaning forward to warm his fingers by the flames. So much of his relationship with Gladio has been about discipline, structure, focus... the opposite of misbehaving. It's intriguing to hear Gladio mention it now. It comforts Noctis to know there's more to Gladio than strongly held beliefs and willingly voiced disappointments. He's suddenly curious about the layers he's never bothered to peel back. “What sort of misbehaving?”

“You know, skinnydipping in the lake and peeing on a tree.” The interest that the prince takes in their conversation makes Gladio irrationally want to tell Noctis everything. He holds back details, but he can't help but grin suggestively as he says, “Acting on your wilder, baser instincts.”

Noctis lets out a solitary, uncomfortable laugh.

“It’s good for you to be out here before you start your next chapter.”

Noctis falls into silence and Gladio knows right away that he said the wrong thing. The casual, comfortable air dissipates. 

“You ever been fishing outside of Insomnia?” He says, because he needs to say something else. He has followed the angling prince at a distance from the shoreline, keeping a vaguely watchful eye as the prince spent hours seemingly doing nothing at all. The few fish he caught were tossed back immediately into the water. Gladio never understood fishing, but he thinks he should ask the next local shopkeep where there’s a good spot or two.

“Once,” Noctis answers. “Before the accident.”

It's as good as an explanation as any. Everyone knows what it means. _I used to do things. I used to have freedom._ After the accident, Noctis returned from Altissa and then never left Insomnia again. If he wanted to go anywhere other than school or his apartment, he never left Gladio or Ignis’ sights. Gladio should know he's never been fishing outside of Insomnia, and he feels anger brewing again at the idea that Gladio was able to leave when he chose, just pass his babysitting off on Ignis so he could go romp around nude in the forest.

He and his father, the King, had driven three hours to fish a deep, gentle stream in the outskirts of Lestellum. The water had been blue and the fish had been massive. Clarus was there. Gladio could have come, but he chose not to. Noctis remembers falling asleep in his father’s arms, sun-warmed and satisfied. It's one of few lasting memories of _before_ , before his life became nothing more than soft beds and protected rooms, passing the hours with sleep and struggling to interpret the language of his dreams.

The sun is teasing the mountaintops and pours golden light across the landscape. He realizes dully that he's away from Insomnia now, but it doesn't feel like the escape he’d been craving. Maybe because he had no choice in the matter. His father had sent him away with no room for discussion, an odd contrast to the last several years under lock and key. He wonders when exactly the reality of this trip will settle in. For now, everything continues to feel like just another dream, fuzzy at the edges, and likely to be ripped away from him at any moment.

It's the lack of control Noctis feels over his own life that inspires him to be an observer, rather than an active participant.

Gladio watches the emotion flicker over Noctis’ face in the firelight and frowns. Noctis seems mildly offended by the comment, but Gladio can’t really blame him. Noctis has lived his life under lock and key with someone--namely Gladio--keeping constant watch over him, never letting the young prince stray too far or spend too much time alone.

Now, they’re out in nature with no walls around them, no one to answer to, and Noctis does not seem very different than he was when they left Insomnia, unimpressed by the freedom of the open road. Gladio didn’t think much of it in the first two days, but now that he sees the frustration on the young prince’s face, Gladio wonders what the other man is thinking.

Noctis is about to be married by political arrangement. He was told he could never return to his home. He is about to begin a life even more strict than the one before. Gladio at least gets to swap out with Ignis when he needs a day off or a weekend in the woods. Maybe they will have a rare day in Altissia that Noctis would be willing to spend camping and fishing together. For now, Gladio wants to inspire in Noctis the freedom of being in nature.

“You should go fishing tomorrow when we reach Galdin Quay,” he suggests. “It’ll clear your head. You can see what’s out in these waters and show me a thing or two about catching fish. Iggy will probably make us a hearty lunch with your catch before we set sail for Altissia.”

Noctis lets his head roll back on the chair, looking up at the sky as it fades to purple, the first of what will be many stars beginning to break through. Prompto had cried the first night outside of the city, seeing the night sky white with stars for the first time in his life.

He looks over at Gladio, who had followed his gaze upward while he was talking. It gives Noctis an opportunity to watch him, watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as Gladio swallows up at the stars. He's parenting again, he and Ignis both do it, suggesting “fun things” to do whenever Noctis gets particularly withdrawn. He always notices Ignis and Gladio’s shift in behavior before he notices his own. He sighs aloud, but he cannot resist the temptation of “showing Gladio a thing or two.” He never can. It's the one turn of phrase that almost guarantees Gladio will get his way.

“Okay,” Noctis grins at him, knowing the flash of teeth will take his bodyguard aback. “We can go fishing tomorrow.”

“You should have gone fishing today,” Ignis says, setting a cloth sack of herbs down on the plastic table. Noctis is startled by his appearance, and almost loses his balance in the folding chair. “The vegetation I found by the water would have paired exquisitely with fresh fish.”

“Hindsight, Iggy,” Gladio throws over his shoulder and he watches Prompto bounce over to the seat beside Noctis to show him some photos. He leaves his chair to stand over Ignis’ folding table and watch him cut vegetables that he knows Noctis won’t eat. Ignis doesn’t say much, but Gladio doesn’t mind.

Gladio didn’t have a name for the mood that hung between Noctis and himself while they were talking alone, but it’s clear that it’s been dissipated by the appearance of their friends. Gladio wonders if they’ll revisit it some other time, maybe when they are fishing tomorrow. He hopes Ignis and Prompto find something else to do 

“Hey Gladio,” Prompto calls and Gladio looks up to find both Prompto and Noctis looking at him. It’s grown dark outside and half of their faces are glowing in the firelight. Even from this distance, Gladio can see the intrigue in Noctis’ eye. “Bring us all a round, will ya?” 

Gladio sighs, “You lazy bum,” but he does it anyway, opening the cooler and cracking a bottle of beer for each of them.

Gladio towers over Noctis when he stands before him and hands him a wet beer. Noctis leans forward in his chair to take it, but Gladio pulls it away from him, putting his empty hand on Noctis’ shoulder.

“Posture,” Gladio says, pulling Noct’s shoulder blade back. Noctis corrects it for just long enough to get his beer from him and then he slumps again, taking a sip.

Gladio has only just put his shirt back on, having removed it when building camp. He leaves it open though, and so Noctis’s eyes trail from the waist of his pants, past his navel and over taut skin. He had always been tall, and broad, but Gladio got buff when he was sixteen. Wiry, newly a teen, Noctis had been fascinated watching Gladio do pull ups in the gymnasium after school. He wondered how much time Gladio had to spend maintaining such a body. It must be worth it, to be able to throw a broadsword like a frisbee. He knows Gladio will probably work out before he comes to bed, or perhaps rise early in the morning instead. Maybe he will do both. Gladio _is_ a beast, Noctis thinks, meeting his eyes. And then suddenly, he is struck with the realization that Gladio is _his_ beast. The scar that bisects his left eye a strong reminder that Gladio is intended to get in the way of any attacks aimed at Noctis. This bulky and rippled frame intentionally crafted to best protect its Prince. By the time Noctis’s survey reaches the screaming beak inked on side of his chest, Gladio backs away and Noctis brings the bottle to his lips.

Gladio doesn’t miss the way Noctis’s eyes catch on his stomach, slowly sliding up, but he tucks the thought away, not willing to analyze it in the moment. It’s atypical of him, a failing of his duty to not be keenly interested on what Noctis is thinking so as best to protect him, but the long moment wherein Gladio watched Noctis check him out seems like the type of thing he could easily misinterpret and get himself into trouble with. Not that he would. But. It’s odd. Gladio and Noctis have spent countless hours together, but there is something indescribably different between them out here. He blames the wilderness, boundless and free.

Gladio isn’t a stranger to people surveying him with a dark glint in their eyes. He has taken his fair share of fellow Glaive soldiers or old high school classmates into empty restrooms or deep wooded camping trips to indulge in each other’s skin. Gladio could happily perish with his hand wrapped around a cock and his mouth on a working adam’s apple. It’s been a few months since he has an opportunity to lie with a man, and now here he is out in the wilderness surrounded by handsome men he cannot touch.

Letting himself think about sex and his friends could lead him down a dangerous path. In a few days, they will be in Altissia, and Gladio can scope out a new man to waste an hour on.

Gladio helps Ignis serves their dinner and sits around the fire with them, happily sharing light conversation to keep his mind from wandering too far in Noctis’ direction. The prince is safe. The prince seems, for the most part, normal. No reason to overthink, even when he catches Noctis looking at him a few times. Normal.

Noctis likes this. The four of them drinking around a fire. Ignis never used to drink, from what he could remember, but on the road he's been indulging in a single beer at night. Prompto and Noctis both try to get him to drink more, but he won't, claiming that he needs to “keep his wits about him.” Gladio says the same thing, nursing his beer slowly, but Noctis knows he can put away four glasses of wine during Court dinners before he even starts to get buzzed. But still, they _are_ drinking, allowing themselves to sink back into their seats and stretch their legs out in less professional ways. 

It's almost like they're all friends, not employer and employees. His father was friends with his Crownsguard. At least, he seemed to enjoy his time with them. Having all of his company selected for him had always been a bit frustrating as a child. That's why Noctis had latched onto Prompto so desperately when he found him. He looks at each of them now, and then up at the stars, thinking that there are no three men he'd rather be on this trip with.

Mom and dad let the boys get drunk. Noctis and Prompto sucking bottles down until they're giggling and throwing twigs and leaves into the fire. It is his bachelor party, after all.

Prompto seems to bring out the fun in Noctis, and Gladio is content to watch the two of them dissolve more and more into fidgety, loose weirdos, laughing louder and seeming to glow pink in the orange firelight. Even Ignis is smiling. Gladio downs the rest of his beer and helps his drunk friends build the fire back up with some logs he gathered earlier. 

Prompto cheers for Noctis to use his elemancy and Gladio and Ignis speak over each other in a flurry to yell at Noctis not to do it when the spark of mischief appears in the prince’s eye.

On his way back to his chair, Gladio smacks the back of Prompto’s head for suggesting such a thing. 

The alcohol makes him buzz warmly, and his chest feels full with a fond affection for his men. Gladio was right. There is a certain magic to camping. The sky is bright with the cosmos and the fire burns gold and intense in the center of the circle the four men make. Noctis tries to commit the feeling to memory, knowing that this scene is a rare form of love, a well he would need to draw on in his future as a king. His Crownsguard will never leave him, not unless they fail. Noctis doesn't feel ready to be a king, and so he hopes his dad takes his time, but for the first time in his life, Noctis doesn't feel so alone in his future. No decision would ever have to be made without consulting them, his tactician, his laughter, his protector. No journey would have to be taken without them.

Except one, Noctis notes, sounding drunk even in his own head. _Lunafreya._ He is decidedly not ready to think about _that_ , and so he pushes the thought away. 

Prompto is still snorting and giggling at something, having not noticed Noctis’s change in mood. Noctis watches him for a moment longer, and then he falls asleep.

“Shall we turn in?” Ignis suggests quietly, turning Gladio’s attention away from watching the flames. They’d sat mostly in silence since the prince fell asleep. Prompto diverted his drunken attention to his camera reel and Gladio and Ignis sat mostly in silence. 

“Yeah, it’ll be an early day tomorrow if we want to catch the boat out of Galdin Quay before nightfall.”

“Bedtime?” Prompto asks from across the fire. His eyelids look heavy. When Ignis nods, Prompto scrambles out of his chair and into the tent, barely pausing to remove his vest.

Gladio waves Ignis to bed after Prompto while he takes care of the rest. He takes one last sweeping survey their surroundings before dampening the fire to a low smolder and plunging the haven into darkness. When his eyes adjust to the moonlight, Gladio lays a hand on Noctis’ thin shoulder and whispers, “Hey, Noct.” 

After a moment, narrow eyes blearily blink up at him.

“Let’s get you in your sleeping bag, you’ll be more comfortable there. It’s gonna get cold out with the fire gone.”

Noctis is aware someone is trying to wake him when he hears his name pierce his dreamscape. He usually isn't aware he is dreaming until someone tries to wake him, which is surprising, since he dreams of such impossible things.

Right now, a pair of giant hands hover and occasionally twitch before him. They seem familiar. Is he supposed to know who they belongs to? Noctis cannot recall ever studying his father’s hands. Why do they seem familiar?

His name, again. The dreamscape is crumbling, and Noctis desperately consumes the image of the hands so that he might figure out what they mean, but when he tries to focus, he sees that they have transformed. Now they were something feminine, wearing white gloves.

And then he is awake, in that terrible groggy place that Noctis hates, where he feels like if he could just go back to sleep there would be some answers. There never were. 

“Aww,” Noct sighs, rubbing his eyes and then peering towards the wet ashes. “I was gonna put it out with some ice, why didn't you wake me up to do it, Gladio?”

He looks up at Gladio, who is still leaning over him expression unamused. His hand is still on Noct’s shoulder where it was used to rouse him. Noctis looks at it for a moment, and then snakes his own hand up to grip Gladio’s wrist, sudden and firm. Gladio looks surprised for a moment and Noctis tugs on him. Gladio stands up and pulls Noct up with him.

“Next time,” Gladio promises. He reaches out a hand to brace his tired companion’s ribs as Gladio helps him to his feet, their faces close. Noctis’ eyes are so dark, pupils blown wide to take in the trace amounts of light. It’s a shock to be here like this. Gladio feels both naked to the open world and zeroed in on Noctis, they two of them alone together in the darkness. No friends to interject, no walls, no shutting themselves into separate rooms.

Noctis and Gladio shared a motel bed on the road another night, but it wasn’t a tent. Gladio knows how tight that space is. He doesn’t know why the air between them seems to carry an invisible current that Gladio can’t place.

Standing this close to Gladio, Noctis has to lift his chin to look up at him. He usually avoids looking up at Gladio, preferring to instead talk to the wall or floor and just let Gladio assume the message is for him. _Why do I do that?_ Noctis wonders about himself. And a moment later he answers himself-- _the scar._ If he never looked at Gladio’s face, Noctis never had to face the fact that Gladio would throw himself, _had thrown himself_ , in front of a blade for Noctis’s safety. If he never looked at Gladio, he never had to think about the value of his life in comparison to another. In the dark though, looking is easy. Now, he cannot stop looking at his Shield. He is fascinated.

Noctis had been five years old and desperate for his busy king-father's attention when he had indignantly asked him, "who could be more important than me?"  
  
Clarus tried to hide his smile as he left the room but Noctis had seen it. Regis was smiling too and Noctis stamped one small, angry foot.  
  
"That man," his father had explained. "is the most important man in the kingdom. He is the man that ensures the kingdom has its king. You will have a shield one day too, Noctis. He will take blows so you do not have to. You will listen to him, because he will only ever act in your best interest. And he will be the most important man to you, too. Always give him your respect."  
  
_The most important man_. How had he forgotten that until now?

Gladio guides him to the tent, ushering him in first and standing guard outside to scan for one last threat until the rustling dies down inside the tent. When Gladio climbs in behind him, newly divested of his boots and shirt, he finds that Noctis left space for him on the end, exactly where Gladio needs to be. He squeezes in between the tent wall and Noctis and turns his back to the tent so he can watch over the group for a few minutes before he rests, as he should do.

Gladio holds the tent door open and Noctis crawls eagerly inside the sleeping bag beside Prompto, but he cannot get comfortable. The tent is crowded, and Noctis doesn't mind all that much, but for some reason it's a sudden reminder as to why they're all here, and Noctis is jolted awake by anxiety. He watches Gladio as the protector goes through his routine, hoping to distract himself from thoughts of Lunafreya and their impending marriage. Gladio is always the last to sleep, and usually the first to rise. Noctis knows Gladio won't fall asleep until he does and he feels a little guilty. 

Ignis, sleeping in an eerily straight posture, is on the other end of the group with Prompto and Noctis in the middle. Gladio doesn’t doubt that Noctis will fall asleep soon as the prince likely does, but Gladio can tell that his eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

When Gladio settles down beside him, Noctis stares up at the ceiling of the tent, only peeling his eyes off of Gladio because he is too close to look at. He can feel him though. He can feel Gladio’s forearm pressed against his bicep where he leans on his side to watch the men sleep. He can feel Gladio’s breath drifting across his face ever so slightly. He can feel Gladio like a wall, several inches above his head and several inches below his feet. Noctis lets out a deep sigh, finding a little more relaxation. 

Noctis lays there for several moments, letting his bodyguard’s presence ease him. Eventually, he shuts his eyes, and rolls onto his side, facing Gladio. There, he finds sleep. 

Gladio panics for just a moment when Noctis rolls over to face him, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t seem to notice that Gladio is watching him. Still, they’re close. Gladio can feel Noctis’ body heat, their chests inches away from each other.

Gladio only dares watch Noctis’ relaxed face for a few more moments before looking out over the others, afraid he’ll be caught looking right at him. No one is awake and after some time, Gladio falls asleep with them.


	2. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Noctis, the open road leads to awakenings: sexual, sovereign, and certain. As Gladio watches him grow into the King he's destined to become, he must make decisions on how best to serve him.

_Tell me who you loyal to_  
_Do it start with your woman or your man?_  
_Do it end with your family and friends?_  
_Or you're loyal to yourself in advance?_  
_I said, tell me who you loyal to_  
_Is it anybody that you would lie for?_  
_Anybody you would slide for?_  
_Anybody you would die for?_  
  
“LOYALTY.” - Kendrick Lamar (feat. Rihanna)

 

When daylight brightens the tent, Gladio is the first to wake. He finds that Prompto has sprawled out with a leg over Ignis and a fist in Noctis’ sleeping bag, but otherwise they are peacefully asleep. He carefully climbs out of the tent for his morning routine. It’ll be at least two hours before Noctis will wake, but he can anticipate distraction from Ignis and Prompto if he doesn’t start his workout soon.

After a jog down to the lake and back, Gladio begins his day in earnest by counting off his push-ups.

“Rise and shine, Noct! Iggy made breakfast!”

Noct cracks his eyes open to find Prompto’s head floating between the tent flaps. He yawns, stretches and rolls over, cracking his back and neck and knuckles and trying to shake off his dreams.

“Be right there,” he tells him, but Prompto waits, knowing that Noctis will probably fall back asleep if no one escorts him to the coffee pot. He had dreamt of arranged marriages and lavish ceremonies he didn't want to attend. He had been sleeping even in his dreams, refusing to wake up as Lunafreya tugged on his hand and begged him to the alter.

When he finally does make it to the table, Prompto hands him a cup of black coffee and Ignis immediately takes it away, adding some powdered cream and sugar before handing it back to him. Ignis has also made some root vegetables of some kind, and the three other men serve themselves heaping platefuls. Noct sticks to caffeine.

He slowly sips his coffee, coming into the day, moving further away from his dreams. He knows he will succumb to sleep again sooner rather than later, but there is relief in putting them away for a few hours. He usually doesn’t mind his dreams, especially when they contain terrific beasts and unplaceable locations, but he could do without the presence of Lunafreya and imminent events.

He’s supposed to be excited. He knows that. His marriage to Lunafreya is not supposed to be a punishment, but it still feels that way. Noct’s mother and father had been an arranged marriage as well, but they had grown to love each other, and the child they brought into the world. He and Luna have the advantage of at least being friends for many years. It shouldn’t be too difficult to fall in love. Maybe they too would have a child to focus their love like a prism. Noctis shudders.

“Alright there, Noct? You look lost in thought this morning!” Prompto asks.

“Just wakin’ up,” he says. He give Prompto a smile he learned how to do specifically to calm Prompto down, and he watches as his friend shoves another forkful of food into his mouth.

“Sure you don’t want some breakfast?” he pesters. “It’s really good!”

Noctis raises his coffee mug in a silent gesture of satisfaction with what he’s got. Ignis drops another sugarcube into the mug and tops it off with hot coffee. Noctis nods at him in thanks.

He looks around at his friends. They are all capable of taking wives, and yet they rarely, if ever, mention women. It seems like they’re all satisfied with what they have, for the time being at least. Ignis clears his throat, signaling that the next thing he’s going to say is an _announcement,_ not just a statement.

“We should begin the drive to Galdin Quay as soon as we finish breakfast and cleaning up the haven. If we get there early enough, we can relax and have lunch before we set sail to Altissa at fifteen hundred hours. I hear there is a very good restaurant in the resort, but I have not been there myself.”

A cold blade of anxiety pierces Noct’s chest and he starts. He’s not ready for this leg of the journey to end. He’s not ready to get on the boat to Altissa. He’s not ready for any of what that means. 

Noctis locks his sights on Ignis, looking at him through the steam of his coffee. “Nooo,” he whines, “Gladio was going to take me fishing.”

“You can fish here,” Ignis tells him. “Gladio and I will pack up and you and Prompto can go down to the lake. Prompto knows the way.”

Prompto sits up in his seat with excitement, but immediately deflates at Noct’s next words.

“I want _Gladio_ to take me fishing,” Noctis says petulantly, turning his attention from Ignis to Gladio, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “He said he’d take me.”

Gladio isn’t often embarrassed, but when all eyes suddenly turn on him to question the childlike request from Noctis, he can feel his face heating up. He scans each of their faces, Prompto is disappointed, Ignis is wearing a frown and watching him closely, and Noctis is eyeing him over the rim of his mug. Everyone is waiting for a reaction. 

“Sure thing, kid. I’m good on my word.”

That seems to placate Noctis, and Prompto turns his attention away, but Ignis’ gaze sticks on him a moment longer before returning to his breakfast. 

They are narrowing in on the end of their journey, and Gladio does not want it to end, more for Noctis than for himself. A touch of pity strikes him to see how much Noctis seems to be only just starting to enjoy their trip outside of Insomnia, and how he should be staking an identity for himself with no one around but his peers. He wants to see Noctis as someone freer, knowing he will be delivered to the next, more serious chapter of his life as a prince, and eventually a king. In the meantime, Gladio wouldn’t mind getting some one on one time with Noctis out here in the wilderness.

They make quick work of camp with all eight hands at it, and then they’re on the road, Ignis remarking that they need to hustle if the Prince and his Shield are to get a chance to fish. Noctis is distantly aware that he could keep them from getting on the boat, maybe demand a or two night in Galdin Quay.

The weather is nice so the top is down. Noctis sits on top of the Regalia, letting the wind blow his unbrushed hair until it looks almost intentional. From here, he can observe all three men, Ignis as he drives, Prompto as he snaps shots out the window, and Gladio as he reads. The air is crisp and the view is gorgeous and his men are with him, but try as he might, Noctis cannot quiet his mind. He cannot help but think of Lunafreya. He imagines the group returning to the Regalia after the wedding. He imagines Lunafreya taking the only open seat, between Gladio and Noctis. His stomach churns anxiously.

Noctis hasn’t really spent a lot of energy thinking about sex. He masturbates about as much as you’d expect a young prince to, but the time spent is never accompanied by fantasy. Noctis usually closes his eyes while he touches himself and enjoys the darkness. His friends don’t really talk about sex, either, so he’s managed to go this long without even considering their sexualities. He considers them now, sitting on his car like a throne, studying them from what feels like afar.

Ignis, he’s sure, has had sex. He’s never met the women Ignis chooses to court, but they must exist. Ignis is suave, and well-spoken, and would have an easy time getting a date. Noctis wonders how many times he has eaten dinner with Noctis and bid him farewell, maybe to go to a bar or a dessert house with a young lady somewhere nearby. Or does Ignis bring them over right away? Make them dinner in his apartment before undressing them in his room? Noctis finds he doesn't like the thought. 

In all their time navigating high school together, Prompto has never seriously pursued a girl. His intrigue in women feels almost childlike, and aside from commenting on their appearance, he is either uninterested or too insecure to make a real attempt. It would be easy for Prompto, he thinks. He’s fit now, wearing expensive clothes Noctis has bought for him. Best friends with the King-to-be, why wouldn’t he be picking up girls? It dawns on Noctis that maybe _he’s_ the problem. Maybe women aren’t interested in dating members of the Crownsguard. Maybe, wearing Noctis’ clothes and lingering at Noctis’ side, Prompto already looks too owned, Ignis looks too busy, Gladio looks too…

Noctis looks down at Gladio, at the back of his head while he reads. Okay, so maybe his friends aren’t all that _dateable_. But sex is a part of life, right? Some of them must be having sex. The thought makes him cringe, but his imminent wedding and the expected… follow-through has him wondering. Gladio is the picture of masculinity. If any of his men are sneaking off in the evening for anonymous rendezvous with women it must be him. Noct fails to recall ever seeing Gladio with a girl.

And then suddenly it dawns on him and a chill runs down his spine like the time Prompto dropped an ice cube down his shirt. Noctis narrows his eyes at Gladio, running them down his neck and over his hulking shoulders exposed by his tank top. He sees Gladio back in Insomnia, standing close to, speaking softly to, occasionally touching various young men that Noctis would never see again. He had assumed these people were friends, or classmates or comrades of Gladio’s, and maybe they were, but in an awakening of reluctant awareness, Noctis realizes they were something else, too. He had never noticed, probably because he had never cared to. Noctis stares at Gladio’s back, unable to stop himself from imagining strange male hands skating over the feathered flesh. 

Slowly, he lowers himself back into the car. Folding his legs onto the seat, Noctis leans his head against the car door. His socked feet come to rest beside Gladio, and when Gladio lowers his book to look at him, Noctis looks back for several long moments, before closing his eyes. He doesn't know what awaits him in his dreams, but his waking world certainly isn’t any clearer. _Men_ , he thinks. _Gladio._

By the time they reach Galdin Quay, Gladio has read through most of his novel and nearly drifted off to sleep once. He is looking for an excuse to stretch his legs. After parking the car, Ignis suggests they head to the dock to check the departure times and Gladio is thankful for the long walk.

Prompto is taking photos every few feet, repeating that he’s never seen a beach like this before. The water is crystal clear stretching out over the horizon and Prompto must take a dozen photos of it, constantly grabbing the group and stopping them to commemorate the moment. Gladio is studying the picture Prompto shoved in his face, not noticing the mysterious stranger in front of them until he senses Ignis stopping short.

Gladio is immediately suspicious of the ominous, vague tone from the man blocking them from the docks.

He sounds mildly threatening, and Gladio shifts right into Shield mode, placing himself beside Noctis just in time to snatch the coin that is thrown at Noctis before it hits him. He’s angry, for a flash, that Noctis parted away from him to make way for the stranger to pass through their group. Gladio is meant to be his shield, to stop him from getting hurt and keeping him out of unnecessary dangerous situations in the first place, but he needs Noctis to let him do his job.

Noctis didn’t even have the presence of mind to fight back, only to flinch from the danger when a coin is thrown at him. Gladio snatches it deftly from the air and shows the condescending coin to Noctis, eying the prince’s angry expression.

Gladio can see right away where Noctis’ training hasn’t prepared him for real world dangers. He stands in front of Noctis to dig at the stranger, “And who’s _allowing_ us?” he asks in his most hard-edged voice, trying to peel back the mystery, but the man just shrugs him off with a smile and leaves.

Immediately, Ignis and Prompto press forward to verify what the stranger said, if the boats are leaving the docks. Gladio sticks closer to Noctis, who doesn’t seem shaken exactly, but is hesitant after the brief encounter. Gladio looks him over, notes the withdrawn set of his shoulders, and tells himself he needs to toughen Noctis up.

In the back of his mind, Gladio builds a training regiment as he follows the other men to find that the stranger was speaking the truth. There are no boats leaving Galdin Quay for the foreseeable future, not even a boat in sight for them to barter with the owner.

Tomorrow, he’ll drag Noctis awake at dawn with him for a run on the beach.

Noctis knows he should be wary of this stranger, troubled by the news, but it only feels like the gods are answering his silent prayers to delay the future. His friends stir around the dock nervously, but Noctis stares at the blue-green water, undisturbed by boat traffic, undoubtedly full of fish.

Ignis and Prompto move ahead to investigate further, and Gladio hangs back. Gladio is looking him over, concern flashing behind his eyes. He considers throwing thunder right there, just to prove he could get out of a situation without Gladio’s help, but it feels like a stupid fight to pick. Plus it would change Gladio’s soft, concerned expression into a mask of frustration and disdain, and while Noctis does enjoy messing with his protector, he's rather enjoying having Gladio's eyes on him now. He thinks about his realization in the car, earlier. He wonders if Gladio will ever tell him he's gay.

Noctis reaches out and grabs Gladio’s forearm, dragging him toward the dock.

“Let's fish.”

Gladio starts at the hand on him, but quickly complies. He glances over his shoulder for Ignis and Prompto, but they’re still ahead of them, and Gladio decides against his better judgement to fulfill to Noctis’ wish immediately. He writes it off as part of his duty to the prince, not worrying to much about the gaps in the logic.

Noctis leads him down the dock back to shore, not letting go until they are halfway down the long stretch as though he just realizes he was holding onto his shield, but he doesn’t look embarrassed by it. Gladio follows him down to the shore and to the tackle shop where Noctis scrounges their change for a new fishing line and some bait.

While Noctis is busy with the shopkeep, Gladio looks around, taking in the threat level-- _low_ \--of the people on the shore. No beasts in sight. He looks back to the resort and sees Ignis and Prompto standing at the pier, watching them.

Gladio raises one solidary hand as if to say, “it’s fine, don’t come over here,” and it’s a relief when they don’t argue. Ignis holds up one hand in return and walks back into the restaurant, Prompto trotting after him.

Gladio follows Noctis to the end of the short dock. He opens his heavy leather shirt to accommodate the heat of the sun while he watches Noctis prepare his fishing rod.

Noctis is focused hard on threading the lure into the line, tying several knots to secure it. He reels the line until the lure hangs at just the right place and then he checks over his shoulder for clearance before he casts it. 

“Hang on,” Gladio says.

Noctis stands still while Gladio comes up behind him and fixes his posture, both heavy hands rolling his chest open and his shoulders back. Noctis shoves him away instinctively, and then glances over his shoulder to tell Gladio to back up. Noctis’ eyes widen when he finds Gladio behind him with his shirt open. His hand tightens slightly on the rod.

Gladio doesn’t mind being shoved away, Noctis often tells him to step off when Gladio straightens his shoulders, but Gladio wouldn’t be doing his job if he let Noctis slouch all the time. Bad posture makes him weak and appear unfit for leadership.

It’s nice to be out here with Noctis. For all the time spent in the same vicinity, they don’t talk a lot. He’d like to fix that, “So, what do you like so much about fishing?”

“Fishing,” Noctis says in contemplation, “is trickery. You dangle this flashy little treat around and just when the big fish thinks it's the best day of his life, he's hooked in the cheek and dragged from his world into ours. I like the shocked expression on their fish faces when I catch them.”

Noctis makes wide eyes at Gladio, opening and shutting his mouth, his left hand flapping like a gill against his neck. He chuckles and turns back around, easily casting the lure into the sea.

“And then you know, I throw them back. Usually.”

Gladio laughs. He doesn’t say it, but the first word that comes to his mind is _cute_. He brushes it off.

With the lure out to sea, Gladio stands beside Noctis, watching ripples in the water fade out and the line become still. His gaze slides between the water, awaiting a bite, and Noctis’ profile. The young man is wearing concentration in his eyes, but his jaw is a slack like he’s relaxed. It’s a fascinating picture. He’s seen Noctis at leisure, but it’s usually weighed by boredom or Noctis’ brand of depression. Instead, he looks peaceful. He wears it well. 

“You’re a bit of a nature guy, I never realized that,” Gladio says, feeling a little out of bounds but not stopping. He wants to keep reaching out to him. “Next time you catch a break, we can go camping and fishing.”

Noctis pulls his unbitten lure in and recasts it. A moment later, he reels and casts again. He’s ignoring Gladio, but he needs the few moments to gather himself. He can tell Gladio is trying to reach out to him in new ways, and Noctis is reminded of the routine fishing trips Clarus diligently took his father on, even as his health diminished. For some reason, Gladio’s invitation has sent excited little butterflies through his stomach. 

Finally, he looks over his shoulder at Gladio and asks, “Aren’t we camping and fishing now?”

“Oh, or you meant,” Noctis continues. “Just us.”

Noctis really wants to catch Gladio’s reaction, but he cannot, as something heavy tugs at his line and his attention is pulled back to the water. He begins to reel frantically, taking several steps backwards to keep from being thrashed into the water.

Gladio sees Noctis start to be pulled toward the water and places a large hand on Noctis’ small hip, ready to grab him with both hands if he suddenly pitches forward. He leans backward with Noctis, following him as he reels and leans and pulls in the fish.

Gladio chuckles when Noctis lifts the creature out of the water. It’s a small, but reasonable size. “Nice catch.”

Noctis unhooks the fish and tosses it back into the sea.

“I can do better than that,” he says.

Noctis casts a few times, but he can feel the minute the lure hits the water that the fish have fled. Their absence sings at Noctis, echoing the the feeling left behind by Gladio’s hand on his hip. He shakes it off, and walks ten paces eastward before casting the line again.

This time he chooses to be patient, instead of dragging his lure through the water and alerting all of the fish to the danger. Gladio does not follow him right away, so Noctis turns to look at him while he waits for a bite. Gladio is dark and impressive against the cerulean of the sea.

And then something huge grabs the line and Noctis scrambles to get his left hand on the rod as the fish tries to wrestle it out of his right. Noctis’ boots skid a foot along the deck before he drops to his ass, hoping his center of gravity will keep him on the dock. He reels in, his hand burning with the effort.

“Gladio!” he shouts. “A little help!”

Gladio is immediately at the prince’s side, grabbing him around the waist and hoisting him up and back until his boots find purchase on the wooden dock. Noctis is so small, it takes Gladio aback. He’s always been shorter and slighter, but Gladio has never wrapped his thick arms around him, never felt his tiny waist and how small and breakable the young prince is.

Once they are stable, Gladio slides his hands back so they tightly grip his narrow hip bones, keeping Noctis in place while he works to pull in the fish. His digs his fingers in, feeling the soft give of his skin through the heavy fabric of his cargo pants.

“Almost lost you there, Noct.”

When Gladio lifts Noct off the dock and sets him on his feet, Noctis cannot breathe. He's used to Gladio knocking the wind out of him, but that's usually when Gladio is sweeping him off of his feet, not helping him to stand.

Gladio doesn’t let go of him, his hands sliding across his stomach and down to his hips. Noctis looks down at them, the broad hands eating up several inches of his sides, holding him steady. How many times has Gladio been in this position? Standing behind another man, hands on his hips, speaking to him over his shoulder? For Noctis, it's a first.

The thought causes Noctis to choke on his own saliva. While coughing, the fish dances spectacularly out of the water and when it dives back in, the rod is yanked from Noctis’ hands.

He doesn't move as the rod hits the water and starts to sink with the frantic fish still attached.

“Uh,” he says, still frozen beneath Gladio’s touch. “Help?”

Gladio watches the rod slip from Noctis’ stiff hands and fly into the ocean where it sinks beneath the surface. He blinks once, twice, then Noctis asks for help in a voice that’s both hesitant to ask and helpless. As always, Gladio does as the prince asks.

Gladio sighs and gives Noctis’ hips a quick squeeze before letting him go to pull off his shirt, kick off his boots, and dive into the water before Noctis’ stammer forms a solid word for him to latch onto.

He breaks the surface of the warm water empty handed and spins around, meeting Noctis’ wide eyes on the dock, “Which way did it go?”

Noctis stares out at Gladio in the sea. How can such a large man move so gracefully in the water? Did Gladio really just jump into the sea to chase after his stolen rod? Noct supposes he did ask him, in a way. It's the urgency of Gladio’s actions that leave Noctis bewildered on the deck.

“What the hell!” he manages, hands falling to his hips to touch where Gladio squeezed. 

“East, right?” Gladio asks and before Noctis can pull himself together to answer, Gladio takes off swimming to the east.

It takes a few minutes of swimming and bobbing before Gladio pops back out of the water, the rod with its now broken line held high above his head. He grins at Noctis. 

When Gladio arrives back on the shore, he holds the fishing rod out to Noctis and bows his head to conceal the shit-eating grin on his face, “Your Highness.”

Noctis reaches out and takes the rod from Gladio, and when Noct’s hand brushes Gladio’s wet fingers, he takes in the rest of Gladio’s wet body, long hair dripping, bare feet poking out beneath wet, sagging pants. He didn't hesitate, he just dove in. Noctis finds himself thinking: _you are the most important man._

Aloud he says, “This is an expensive rod.”

He realizes a moment too late that he should have said thanks.

Gladio stands up straight and catches and releases Noctis from a quick one-armed hug, knowing he’s making his dry clothes damp. “Sorry I couldn’t drag the fish ashore with it. You’re going to need a new line.” 

Gladio pulls back and smiles at him, but finds that Noctis, as usual, isn’t meeting his eyes. He ignores the wave of disappointment in his stomach. Gladio feels like he’s been making progress with him and had hoped to find a bright smile waiting for him on the dock. He didn’t anticipate that it would distance them again. 

He puts some space between himself and Noctis and smoothes back his wet hair. “I’m soaked now. You wanna keep fishing? I’ll get you another line.”

“Wow wow!” Prompto’s laughter precedes him. He and Ignis head down the pier towards them. “What happened here?!”

Noct turns away from Gladio to glance at them as they approach. Ignis says nothing, but he is touching his face as he contemplates the scene before him. Gladio is still dripping heavy droplets of seawater onto the deck. They are pounding loud in Noct’s head, driving his pulse. And Noctis is beside him, fishless, with a broken line. Noctis lowers his face to the ground to hide his blush. It would all be so funny, if he didn't feel scandalized.

“I suppose we'll be dining out this evening,” Ignis says in conclusion.

“No no,” Noctis says. “Gladio was just about to get me another line.”

He turns to Gladio and hands the rod back to him. He is taken aback once more by the sopping wet man. His pants are going to take a long time to dry. He should have jumped in naked.

When Noctis’ eyes briefly meet Gladio’s, his cheeks are still red. 

Gladio answers Ignis’ studying gaze with a small, lopsided smile that tells Ignis he’s unwilling to answer questions but there is no need to worry. Still, Ignis’ eyes sweep over him behind the spectacles one more time in the typically way that makes Gladio feel like Ignis is seeing right through him. Gladio wonders what deeper meaning Ignis is calculating in his head.

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand brushes Noctis’ in a small reassurance as he takes the rod from him.

Gladio lays down the thirty gil for a new spool of line for Noctis, glancing once over his shoulder at the other men. Prompto seems incredibly amused by the situation, pointing out over the water asking questions that the prince hesitates to answer.

Noctis recounts the tale for Ignis and Prompto, causing Prompto to guffaw and slap his thigh, and even gets a hearty chuckle from Ignis. He leaves out the part about Gladio lifting him like a ragdoll and the strange pulse of jealousy he felt when Gladio was standing behind him, hands on his hips.

 _Jealousy._ That had been it. Noctis had felt something… consuming... beneath Gladio’s strong hands, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many men have felt the same thing. How many men had Gladio hoisted off the ground like that? Does it always make them breathless? How many men have been held still under his powerful grip? His stomach turns queasy. He doesn’t like the thought of Gladio touching people. Noctis suddenly feels like none of the nameless lovers of Gladio’s past could have possibly deserved him.

Prompto takes a photo of Gladio’s shirt and boots, where they lay dry and undisturbed on the deck.

Noctis turns to watch Gladio return from the tackhouse. It’s much easier to look directly at him from afar. His damp skin shines bronze in the sun, black tattoos dancing over the muscles, his wet hair curling as is it begins to dry. He pays for the line and begins to walk back towards the group. He is switching the spool while he walks, so he’s moving a little slowly, looking down at the rod. It gives Noctis more time to study him. He really is remarkable. He thinks that Gladio must be able to get with any guy he fancies. The gay ones, at least. Noctis wonders what sort of men Gladio is into. He wonders how old Gladio was when he first realized he was gay. Noctis wonders who the first guy he kissed was. Noctis has never been kissed. Noctis knows he's spending too much time thinking about this. He knows that none of this should matter, and _does not matter,_ but Noctis is desperate for a distraction right now. Anytime he stops thinking about Gladio, his thoughts return to Lunafreya, having to kiss _her_ in front of thousands... and so Noctis watches Gladio, and he lets himself wonder.

When Gladio returns to them, he hands the rod to Noctis. Ready to meet his eyes this time, Noctis smiles and says “thank you.”

He steps away from the group so he can swing without hooking anyone. He paces several feet each direction, looking out to sea, opening himself up to the tempting sensation of hungry fish beneath the surface. He's always felt like could feel their presence, if he paid enough attention. There. He stops and prepares his rod but before he casts, he looks over his shoulder at Gladio and says “just, stay nearby.”

He casts, and something bites right away. Noctis is ready this time, leaning back against the weight of the fish. He wrangles the creature out of the water and heaves it onto the deck. It’s big enough to keep. Noctis grins proudly at the catch, posing for Prompto’s camera. Ignis looks satisfied, hand coming to his chin as his considers dinner.

Gladio pats Noctis on the back in pride when he reels in a good fish. Even though Noctis was able to pull the fish in on his own, Gladio had the urge to grab ahold of Noctis’ hips anyway. He restrained himself, crossing his arms and watching Noctis’ face light up in joy for Prompto’s photo.

When they get to camp, Ignis pulls Noctis aside.

“Your Highness, I’m sorry about the complications we faced today. We are already late due to the unexpected repairs on the Regalia, but I assure you tomorrow we will be on our way to Altissa.”

Noctis narrows his eyes at Ignis.

“Why are you talking like that, Iggy?”

Ignis looks off to the side like he’s barely caught himself from rolling his eyes. Noctis always uses the nickname to try to rustle Ignis out of his professional demeanor. It usually works.

“I just figured,” Ignis tells him seriously, leaning forward so he may lower his voice. “You would be worried about your wife-to-be.”

“Luna is fine,” Noct says, waving his hand in dismissal. “We’ll get there when we get there, what’s the hurry?”  

“Hmm,” Ignis had said. And then apparently having gotten what he wanted, “Pardon me.”

Noctis feels a little disoriented watching Ignis leave. Suddenly Gladio appears beside him, taking the beer from Noctis’ hands.

“Want to light the fire, Your Highness?”

Noctis smiles up at Gladio, and all concerns regarding Ignis melt away.

After dinner, Gladio sits close to the fire, letting his still damp pants dry in the heat. Noctis sits across the flames from him, engaged in conversation with Prompto. He’s full, for the first time in several meals, and the heat of the fire has him sleepy. He is content to curl up in his chair, occasionally sucking at his beer. Prompto prattles on about Galdin Quay, and Noctis always enjoys hearing Prompto speak so reverently about the world around him. It reminds him to appreciate his surroundings. For the second night in a row, Noctis finds himself admiring his men for each of their strengths and all of their humanity.

He doesn’t look at anyone like he looks at Gladio, though. His bodyguard reads by the firelight, every few minutes lifting his eyes to check their surroundings, check on the prince. By the third time Gladio looks up at him, Noctis stops pretending to look away.

He is consumed tonight, by the weight of an oath and the person who took it.

When Noctis and Gladio’s gazes hold, Gladio can't help the smile that tugs on his lips.

Gladio feels warm. It might be the blaze of the campfire, but it's comfortable.

Gladio has long accepted and dedicated himself to his role as shield and protector of the heir to the throne of Lucis, but this feels like the first time he's come to enjoy it. He feels more like he's working for a friend. He has seen the close bond that his father Clarus and King Regis had, and now he feels a spark of it between Noctis and himself. Out in the wilderness, there's something electric pulling them together that's damn magic enough that it makes Noctis _smile_ . At _him_. Gladio knows his inevitable bond with Noctis is starting to strengthen and it makes him want to double his efforts to do his duty as best he can, to become strong and fearless and ready to protect Noctis the second a threat comes their way.

Gladio feels a little restless as the night slips away. Prompto is yawning and slipping down in his chair, signaling the end of the evening, but Gladio feels like he could go for a run. He has energy to burn and thoughts bubbling underneath the surface that he's not ready to dig into.

When Ignis comes round and collects an empty bottle from Noctis’ slack hands, he reluctantly climbs out of his seat. Noctis casts his Shield one last look, smiling slightly when Gladio feels the pull and their eyes connect. Noctis retreats into the tent without saying anything. He falls asleep on top of his sleeping bag.

He dreams about hands again, but this time they are wet, and they touch him, large and heavy on his hips, dampening his clothes. Lunafreya is watching him, concerned, but Noctis doesn't call for help. 

A few hours later, Noctis is awoken by the need to piss. Ignis and Prompto are asleep beside him, their shirts and shoes lined up at the end of their bags. Conveniently, Noctis is still wearing his boots and doesn’t have to disturb them as he climbs out of the tent.   

Noctis looks for Gladio immediately, surprised not to see him standing outside of the tent door. The fire is still burning lowly, and Noctis’ fingers tingle with the desire for devious magic. He wonders if Gladio is _misbehaving_ somewhere, maybe bathing down by the shore. He imagines Gladio’s wet body appearing from around the back of the tent. Noctis can see it clearly. He glances over his shoulder but doesn’t see him there.

Noctis finds a tree and relieves himself.

Sleep doesn’t catch up to Gladio until late into the night. The energy that crackled through him around the fire with his friends spurs him on through two hundred push ups, two hundred sit ups, and only a handful of pull ups until the only low solid tree branch near the haven snaps under his weight. It wasn’t enough of a workout, his mind and body still reeling. He shrugs and takes off on a barefoot lap of the whole cove, his heavy footfalls echoing the blood thrumming in his veins, beating in rhythm _Noctis Noctis Noctis Shield_.

Working out became a comfort for Gladio in his late teens, a place to throw himself when he feels too much or nothing at all. When he doesn’t remember the purpose of his duty, he throws sandbags. When he loses his spars with the other soldiers, he hits a punching bag. When he needs to meditate, he runs. All Gladio sees in his head is Noctis flinch from the coin tossed at him, Noctis smiling privately at him over the campfire, Noctis surprised and flushed when Gladio dove into the ocean after his fishing rod.

He runs to turn over what’s already in his head, but he doesn’t go any deeper, doesn’t venture into unfamiliar territory.

What he does know is that he needs to fight dirtier with Noctis in the practice ring. Needs to toughen up the prince outside the castle walls. The ominous threat from the stranger showed Gladio the flaws in Noctis’ training thus far. It’s not practical. It’s not real. They are not in any immediate danger out here save for beasts and the occasional crook, but Insomnia has enemies that may catch wind of the stranded prince. Gladio can’t let Noctis be caught unprepared.

Next chance they get, he’ll take Noctis to the mat. A small jolt flares in his stomach picturing Noctis sweaty in a t-shirt and shorts, fists up and ready to fight off the much larger man. He runs faster. _Noctis_.

Gladio slows to a jog when he reaches their end of the beach. He’s as hot and sweating as he imagined Noctis to be, and he pauses to pull off his pants and wades into the water, falling back to dunk himself under. The cold water washes away his frustration, his sweat and grime, and when he resurfaces he feels looser, more at peace.

He looks out over the sparkling black water to the horizon, still and even from the absence of ships. It’s a dark sign. All Gladio should focus on for now is Noctis, and not an unpredictable future. That’s what Ignis is for.

Gladio wades back to the shore, hand cupped over himself until he pulls his pants back on. He shakes out his hair as he returns to the haven and stops still when he sees the tent flap is open.

On high alert, Gladio sets his stance and scans the area, not seeing anything out of place. He walks around the back of the haven, remaining in the darkness until he sees a shadow by a tree of the other side. He stalks closer, then lets out a relieved chuckle when he sees it’s only Noctis as he turns back to the camp. Gladio jogs up behind him and puts a quick arm over his shoulder.

“Hey.”

There is distant rustling in the trees and Noctis urges himself on, afraid that he wandered too far from the haven, and that he's hearing a stray daemon prowling the woods. As he tucks himself away and turns to return to the tent, Noctis hears quickly approaching footsteps and freezes, his body rigid. When Gladio appears beside him, Noctis sighs in relief, deciding that Gladio is the is the only person he ever wants sneaking up on him in the dark.

“Hey,” Noctis says back. His arm temporarily wraps around Gladio’s lower back and then both of them immediately pull away. Noctis looks over Gladio, his hulking form becoming sharper as his eyes adjust to the moonlight. His scarred face and dark eyes almost make him look like a wild beast, belonging more to the land than he does to society. Noctis possessively thinks _no, he belongs to me._

Gladio’s skin had been wet. Noctis can still feel it on his palm. So he _had_ been misbehaving while Noctis was asleep. He suddenly wonders about all the times he's fallen asleep in Gladio’s company. He wants to know what his bodyguard does in his spare time. What does he get up to when he knows Noctis is asleep safely in his bed. There's something exciting about being alone in the dark with Gladio while the other guys sleep. Noctis tilts his head, squinting through the darkness. It's easy to look at him. He feels like he's dreaming.

“Don’t you ever sleep, Gladio?” 

Gladio laughs. “Nah, where else would I fit in time to work out with you three always hanging around? Besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on the campground, make sure a Sparkshear doesn’t crawl too far inland and start throwing its pincers around.

“And it gives me a chance to swim in the ocean. Can’t do that in the sunlight, not the way I like,” Gladio reaches back to wring out his damp hair and smirks at Noctis.

Noctis is thankful for the darkness; his cheeks burn red. Still, he has to turn away from Gladio, biting his lip to keep from sputtering. Still, Noctis feels a sense of satisfaction, he _knew_ Gladio was prowling around naked in the wilderness _._ He envisions him today, jumping into the sea and chasing after Noct’s rod. Noctis can’t help but think he _should_ have jumped in naked, spared the wet clothes, _misbehaved_ a little.   

There’s a look on Noctis’ face as he realizes what Gladio means, and he loves it. He tries not to react to it for the sake of not embarrassing Noctis. He knows Noctis is picturing him naked out in the ocean where anyone can see. He’s a member of the Crownsguard, that behavior is completely inappropriate, but out here it seems like no one knows them. In their dark corner of the Galdin Quay cove, there’s no one to see.

Gladio almost wishes he had waited on his swim to invite Noctis with him, but the moment has passed.

The burning in his face won’t relent, and Noctis takes a deep breath, trying to cool himself down. He feels electricity in his veins, pulsing like they do when he hasn’t used his magic in several days. The feeling makes it hard to breathe, but still Noctis feels like he has to say something. Gladio is just watching him, _smirking at him_ in the same exact way he used to when they were young and Noctis was struggling to catch up with a new maneuver in sword training _._ It’s like Gladio knows that Noctis is thinking about his naked body and is enjoying the fact that Noct is lost for words. Noctis shoves him hard in the chest. He hardly budges and Noctis sneers, launching at him again, shoving him hard with both hands.

Gladio’s hands catch his arms and they freeze for a moment, Noctis’ hands splayed out on Gladio’s bare chest, Gladio’s hands encompassing nearly all of Noct’s forearms. Gladio’s beaded necklace, with the Lucian skulls, is pressed between his fingers and Gladio’s warm skin. Noctis’ fingers curl around it ever so slightly. He stares up at him, right into Gladio’s eyes. He can’t remember the last time he looked someone in the eyes for this long. He still feels like he’s dreaming.

“Gladio,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

Gladio’s expression is serious, and when he tightens his hands around Noct’s arms, Noct is dragged half an inch closer to him.

“You are very important to me. Thank you for your protection.”

Gladio is thrown off guard by the sentimentality from Noctis, the prince’s blue eyes, nothing but black now in the low light, bore into him. He feels like Noctis is seeing right inside him. Gladio lives his life in service of Noctis, but it’s never been acknowledged like this. It doesn’t have to be. Gladio doesn’t want Noctis to feel like he owes him something.

He rubs a thumb over the smooth skin of the arm in his grip, a silent, intimate gesture of appreciation.

Gladio knows he has to break the moment. They look at each other for a few beats longer, and then Gladio releases him.

“I don’t want you slacking on your training out here,” he says. It’s hard to watch Noctis’ face fall from the raw gratitude he saw there a moment prior. “How about a little challenge? You get up at dawn with me and we run on the beach. Nothing builds up stamina faster than running on sand.”

Noctis agrees despite his clear reluctance. Gladio gives him a light punch on the shoulder. “Alright! Bright and early, Noct. I’ll carry you out of bed myself if I got to.”

Those words from Gladio shock Noctis out of his dream-like stupor. He faces the ground. Noct winces at the idea of getting up early to exercise. He did feel compelled to tell Gladio how he felt, but he resents the idea that honesty led to exercise. Still, he looks up at Gladio and nods. His Shield is only ever acting in his best interest. Noctis has to respect him.

“Come on, let’s head to bed,” Gladio says softly, laying a hand on Noctis shoulder to pull him from his thoughts, just like Ignis does. Noctis shrugs it off.

Gladio nods to the fire, “You wanna take care of that?”

That does get Noct to come back. He grins, grateful for a chance to release the energy that has been pooling in his gut all day. Noct positions himself, and lifts a hand, making a small show of aiming to prove to Gladio he knows how. Noct turns his way briefly, and Gladio’s face is illuminated blue by the eager glowing of Noct’s fingertips. He wants to make sure he has his attention.

Noctis hits the campfire with a targeted blast of snow, potent enough to kill the flames and precise enough not to wake their friends. When Noctis looks back at Gladio, he’s thrilled to see him smiling.

Gladio opens the tent for Noctis and follows right after, laying on the end with Noctis in one of the middle spaces, exactly how Gladio thinks it should be. Should a beast approach the haven, Gladio should be able to slice the neoprene tent wall beside him with the greatsword laid out at his side and cut down the threat before it endangers the prince.

He lays on his side, facing the men, making sure they’re all resting peacefully before he’s able to fall asleep himself.

Noctis enters the tent and kneels down to remove his boots. He is already yawning. He climbs into his sleeping bag and Prompto protests beside him at the disturbance. Noctis rustles his sleeping bag a few more times on purpose, until Prompto groans and rolls away from him, into Ignis’ space. When Noctis finishes zipping himself up to the waist he looks over to Gladio, who is already laying on his side watching over them.

Noctis looks away from him, fighting back another yawn. The tent is warm with all four of them inside. He tugs his t-shirt over his head.

Halfway through the motion, Noctis wonders if Gladio is watching. _Looking_. Does Gladio look at all men? Has Gladio ever looked at Noctis like that before? He pulls the shirt off the rest of the way and tosses it at his boots.

Noctis manages to lay down without looking at Gladio. He shuts his eyes tight and sleep comes quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at/with us on Tumblr at df-starboy and feral-days.


	3. Lotta U

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Noctis, the open road leads to awakenings: sexual, sovereign, and certain. As Gladio watches him grow into the King he's destined to become, he must make decisions on how best to serve him.

_You said you can tell overthinking is my thing_ _  
_ _Well I guess I found a thing that's worth overthinking_

 _And you said it's my fault for being too cute_  
_And I will take that accusation gladly_  
_Take that accusation gladly_  
_I said you're crazy for thinking I'm not into this_ _  
_ You fool you'll see, you fool you'll see

“Lotta U” - Sonia Stein

Like clockwork, Gladio rises with the sun. Waking up on his back, he can see the dull light of early dawn shining through the tent. He stretches his limbs and cracks his fingers before rolling onto his side to check on his friends. Everyone is asleep and accounted for. He knows they don't have much time before Ignis wakes up. 

He reaches out and gently shakes Noctis’ shoulder, leaning close to his sleeping face to whisper to him, “Hey, Noct. Wake up, you promised me a run on the beach.”

Gladio urges him up, ushering him slowly and quietly out of the stuffy tent into the breezy morning air. The skies are pink with the rising dawn and the ocean is at peace. Gladio chooses not to comment on the lack of ships, not eager to ruin the moment. Noctis’ eyelids are heavy and his pink lips are puffy from sleep. He’s squinting at their surroundings and at Gladio, adjusting to the light. Gladio resists the urge to ruffle Noctis’ bedhead, instead reaching back to lay his own hair flat.

Gladio leads him down to the beach, walking quickly to wake up his muscles. Noctis trails slowly behind. “Come on, Noct! Let’s hustle.”

He laughs at the groan of disdain he hears over the gentle crashing of the waves.

Noctis blinks into the sunlight as he stumbles behind Gladio shoreward. He had been dreaming when Gladio roused him and the fog is still retreating from his mind when they reach the sand bank. Noctis groans at the sound of Gladio’s coaching voice.

 When Noctis catches up to Gladio, he still feels like he could fall back asleep. Gladio grabs his shoulders to jostle him awake, using the opportunity to correct his posture.

 His dreams had been nothing but flashes of terrific beasts. Some of them were snake-like, and he fought with his elemancy or his swords. Others were winged, and did not attack. They simply climbed on top of him, weighed him down and now Noctis can’t remember why he didn’t struggle.

 Maybe Gladio is right. He _is_ getting weaker. He wasn’t training like he used to, and the past few days he’s been… distracted. He should let Gladio focus him.

 So he agrees to his little wager, and charges into the sand.

 Gladio huffs when Noctis passes him at full speed, the smaller man charging forward with his whole body to their chosen finish line at the stairs by the pier. 

Gladio picks up his feet, moving at an even pace until Noctis naturally slows down and Gladio is able to charge forward, outrunning him and eventually slapping his hand against the concrete of of the pier before Noctis, who completes the last leg of the race at a walk.

He laughs in victory and reaches out to pat his companion’s heaving shoulder. “Good work, Noct.” 

Noctis’ pink face reads frustration and he brushes Gladio off. “Does this mean you’re going to make good on your wager: training every day?”

“You bet. I can’t force you, but consider this an open invitation to throw down every morning. You’re always welcome to workout with me.” 

Noctis frowns. “Strange. Somehow, I feel inspired to train anyway.”

Gladio grins and nods back toward the camp. “That’s all I wanted. I’ve got some more work to do. You head on back, you can show Iggy that you were up training bright and early.”

Noctis is still catching his breath. He looks at the walk back to camp and doesn’t feel ready for it yet. Gladio is hardly winded, recovering surprisingly fast from what, to Noctis, was a gruelling run. He _couldn’t even run_ by the end of it. Apparently that was just Gladio’s warm up and Noctis is impressed.

“I’ll wait here if you’ve got more work to do.”

Gladio looks the prince up and down, taking in his slight body accustomed to training the way Gladio does. He pictures assisting Noctis through a pull up, wrapping his arms around Noctis’ skinny legs and hoisting him up, guiding him while Noctis’ struggles to lift his own little body weight with his twiggy arms. He smirks. “You wanna see what I do?”

He plops down where he’s sitting, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. He lets out another deep breath, his heart still thudding in his throat. Gladio is smirking at him and Noctis has to bite back a smile.

“Yeah,” Noctis says, leaning back on his arms and shaking the hair out of his eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Noctis is curious about his Shield’s routine, wants to watch him sharpen his blade.

Gladio starts with stretches to warm his muscles up. He twists his torso each direction and holds. He reaches over his head and bends down to try to touch his toes. His body is catered to power and not flexibility, so it’s a fruitless effort, but the stretch in his hamstrings achieves the right effect.

Gladio calls out, “Hey Noct, keep time for me on this one. Count to two minutes.”

“Sure thing. One, two, three..”

Gladio launches into jumping jacks, keeping his body tight and straight as he jumps to elevate his heart rate. He’s about twenty feet away from Noctis, who is sitting sprawled out and relaxed on the sand, watching him and slowly counting aloud.

Noctis cannot help but notice Gladio’s wingspan while he jumps, long, feathered arms cutting through the air. The rising sun casts long shadows across the sand, making his arms look even more like wings in the silhouette. His reach is so impressive, Gladio could stand behind Noctis and still hit a target in front of him. Noctis counts the seconds a little slowly, sort of wishing he were countings the reps instead.

“Five-nine, two minutes!”

Gladio puts his hands behind his head with his elbows out to the side to catch his breath. Jumping jacks are an easy movement, but his body is heavy and not built for cardio as much as it is for strength.

“Thanks, Noct.”

He drops back onto the sand on his ass, bends his knees and crosses his wrist over his chest. He tilts his head to the side to meet Noctis’ eyes. “You wanna keep count? Two hundred.”

 “Ready when you are.”

Gladio takes a deep breath, steels his core, and raises his chest up to meet his knees in a clean armless sit up. The first one is perfect and easy. It just gets harder. Gladio paces himself, working efficiently with a break every fifty reps. It’s easy to have Noctis there counting for him, it clears his mind of everything except keeping his body in perfect form.

 When he reaches two hundred, he stands to do squats, requesting another two hundred count from Noctis, who willingly complies. 

“...one nine seven, one nine eight…”

Noctis’ mouth starts to feel dry. He didn’t drink any water after the run, and now Gladio is making him count out what feels like an endless regimen. He doesn’t complain, though he could. Instead, he continues to count, watching Gladio carefully so he doesn’t misnumber a movement.

“...one nine nine, two.”

His Shield is doing this _for him_. He must show him his respect. 

After his squats, Gladio pauses to yank his shirt up over his head and toss it aside. He runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back and out of his face. Gladio flips into a plank, much closer to Noctis after a few rounds of shifting positions. “One hundred, Noct.” 

Gladio leans on his knees and elbows in the sand, now only a few feet away from where Noctis sits and counts. Noctis is starting to feel hot by proxy, trying to imagine how exhausting a work out like this must be. Gladio is hot too. From this distance, Noctis can clearly see the beads of sweat dripping generously into the sand.

There are other effects, too. Noctis is amazed to see Gladio’s muscles waking up, swelling with the effort. He looks even bulkier than usual. His veins are prominent, thick and roping across his body, adding to the map of scar-tissue roads of still pumping blood. 

When Gladio starts banging out reps, Noctis smirks. He counts out quickly, waiting for for Gladio to tire of trying to impress him, to return to a reasonable speed of work. Twenty, thirty, and Gladio is still pumping. In his awe, Noctis misses several reps, but he manages to pick back up without denying Gladio any of his effort.

“...four eight, four nine, five oh.”

When he hits fifty, he sits back on his heels, pausing to a ten count to breathe and rest his arms. When he looks at Noctis, he finds Noctis looking right back at him with wide blue eyes. He’s hit with a common, familiar memory: being in the kingsglaive gymnasium and finding a wandering, curious set of dark eyes on him. Muscle memory makes Gladio puff his chest in pride. When he realizes he’s showing off for _the prince_ , Gladio drops into another fifty pushups.

Gladio pauses and Noctis feels like he needs to catch his breath. He hadn’t been sure Gladio would ever stop. Gladio is breathing heavily, chest heaving with the effort, and his mouth stays open when their eyes meet across the short distance between them. Noctis licks his lips, desperate for a drink of water.

Without saying anything, Gladio drops back to his hands and begins his pushups again. Noctis continues his count.

 “Five one, five two…”

Noctis’ eyes travel up and down Gladio’s body. He watches his shoulders and back work as he lifts and lowers himself. He looks at the tension in Gladio’s thighs, visible even through the black leather of his pants. Noctis wants to see his legs, wants to know what they look like beneath the thick material. Gladio is sweating so much he is soaking through the leather, and sand sticks to him everywhere. Noctis can’t help but imagine Gladio stripping down and entering the sea, bathing himself in the light of day.

Noctis feels the shift in bloodflow and his eyes widen, but he does not take them off of Gladio, and he does not falter his count. _Never like this,_ Noctis thinks. He always did it himself, when he decided he had nothing better to do and time to kill, hand cupping and working his flesh until he brought himself to hardness. Never has it happened like this. Naturally. _Watching someone._

 “Six seven, six eight...”

He lets it happen. He does not fight it. Noctis admires Gladio’s athleticism and he counts his reps and he enjoys the sensation of his cock growing hard inside his shorts, unprompted, uninvited, impossible to ignore. 

“Seven nine, eight oh, eight one…”

 For the first time since Gladio began his routine, Noct manages to peel his eyes away. He looks down at his own crotch, at the clear outline of his arousal against his leg. Noctis pulls his knees up, and since Gladio is distracted, he quickly dips his hand beneath his waistband to adjust himself. With his hand around his dick and Gladio in his sights, Noctis finds that he doesn’t want to let go.

He folds his arms on top of his knees. His erection throbs in his lap, hot and needy like his magic, asking to be used. He tries to distract himself by continuing to count for Gladio, but it _obviously_ only makes things worse. By the time Gladio reaches one hundred, Noctis leans his chin on his forearm. He is dizzy. With all of his blood pooled in his lap, there is none left for his brain.

Gladio sits back up on his haunches and wipes his sandy hands down his sandy torso before dragging the back of his hand over his wet forehead. The sun is just high enough to make him hot, and he can feel his entire back is drenched. His back is coated in sand from where he did his sit ups.

Gladio stands and stretches his arms over his head, reaching until his heels come off the ground. It resets him, dulls the ache in his muscles temporarily. He rolls his neck around. For a pleasant moment, Gladio can believe he has finished his workout. He snaps back into his good posture and makes eye contact with Noctis, who is peering at him over his folded arms.

“Alright, last set. Need you to count to fifty for me.”

When Gladio stands upright before him, all Noctis can do is stare up at him from behind his knees. He nods.

“One…”

 This movement is elaborate, and Noctis has to count slowly. Gladio tips forward and falls to the ground, landing in push up position before jumping his legs to his hands and launching himself off the ground, back to a standing position. He claps his hands above his head and the sound makes Noct’s skin tingle.

“Two… Three...”

Every time Gladio hits the sand, Noct swears he can feel ground move beneath him, although he knows it is impossible.

 “Four… Five…”

 _Okay,_ Noctis thinks, so distracted by his arousal that he’s afraid he’ll forget to breathe. _Okay. Alright._

Gladio’s demonstrating an impressive range of motion, his body swinging through the movements. Noctis can tell it takes a lot of effort, because Gladio is grunting every time he leaps back to his feet, blowing air out fast and hard before he slaps his hands above his head. Every time he thinks Gladio is going to give up, to stop, to breathe, the Shield falls forward once more, catching himself just inches above the sand. Noctis shifts slightly where he’s sitting, trying to find a comfortable place for his cock in his cargo pants. He tightens his hands on his knees. Noctis wants to touch himself again.

No… he wants _Gladio_ to touch him.

“One-one, one-two” he counts, softly.

Noctis has never wanted someone to touch him before. He looks at Gladio’s fingers splayed in the sand. He looks at the handprints he leaves behind. 

“Two-three, two-four…”

Gladio would know _how_ to touch him, Noctis thinks. He’d know what to do.

“Three-six, three-seven...”

The realization doesn’t shock Noctis like his lightning, or make him freeze like his ice. But it does make him burn, his fire broiling under his skin, begging for release. He is certain his face is red. Still, he doesn’t take his eyes off Gladio. He doesn’t feel like he should. He’s supposed to be keeping track, after all.

“Four-one, four-two…”

It feels like a countdown to something dangerous, each slow passing number causing more jittery excitement to flow through him. Noctis doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen at launch and honestly, he isn’t sure he’s going to last.

Gladio is burning as he goes through his reps, the sun is hot and he is hyper aware of Noctis’ eyes following his every movement. Gladio is focusing only on his posture and the numbers that Noctis is reading off. All he feels is the sand and the sun and the watchful gaze keeping him on course.

He wants Noctis to be able to do this, too. He tells himself he is doing this so he can show Noctis what perfect form and hard work look like. He wants to wake Noctis up early with him every morning for a run and a workout. He can coach him through, hold his feet down and anchor him while Noctis grinds through a hundred crunches. 

Gladio brushed off the wager they made for daily training, but it won’t stop him from offering.

He pauses at fifty to catch his breath. When he looks up at Noctis, he finds his mouth open and his cheeks flush like he’s been the one jumping in and out of push ups in the sand.

“You with me, Noct? Fifty more. I’m gonna expect you can do ten of these in perfect form by the time we get to Altissia.”

He winks at him, sets his hands out, and falls gracefully into a push up.

Knowing Noctis is watching him carries him through the rest of his workout. By the time he’s done, his arms and legs are trembling. He drops to his knees and sets his hands behind his head, allowing him to breathe deep lungfuls of air. He needs a gallon of water to chug and a cold shower. With his head ducked low to catch the the wind on his hot neck, he grins up at Noctis.

“So, did that inspire you?”

Noctis looks at Gladio in front of him, arms behind his head, bare chest on display. Gladio’s cheeks are red and it spreads all the way down to his throat. Gladio is drenched in sweat. He is smiling at Noctis. Noctis stares at him. 

“In a… way,” Noctis answers. He rubs his hands nervously on top of his knees. “I’m going to uh, go back to camp. Let you… bathe.”  
  
Noctis winces at his words, casting his eyes down in embarrassment. He spins around onto his knees, so he can stand up without Gladio seeing the telling bulge in his pants. Noctis walks a few stiff steps away and then stops.

“Thank you,” he says, without turning around, and then winces again.  

Noctis breaks into a jog. You know, to circulate the blood. 

Gladio blinks at Noctis’ retreating back. That reaction was unexpected. 

Body on fire, Gladio doesn’t have the presence of mind to worry about Noctis. He seems fine and he’s heading straight to camp where Prompto or, more likely at this hour, Ignis will be there to greet him with sweetened coffee. He hopes Noctis looks smug about his morning run. 

Pushing his aching muscles until he’s standing, Gladio steps out of his pants and wades into the cool, refreshing ocean in only his boxers.

Gladio sinks below the water, finding relief from the burning in his body from the ocean for the second time in a few hours. Gladio always works out more when he’s dealing with something outside of his control, and in this case, the diversion from their mission is keeping him on edge. He doesn’t know what to expect so he doesn’t know how best to prepare and defend Noctis. _Noctis_.

The prince is another thing on his mind.

He doesn’t begin to interpret what Noctis is thinking, but Gladio likes the sudden closeness that’s developed between the two of them. The one-on-one moments they’ve been sharing feel like Noctis is silently reaching out to him, his eyes holding more than he’s willing to say.

It’s his duty to grab ahold and say _yes, I’m here_.

In the meantime, he washes the sweat off his skin and the hot pain from his muscles.

When he returns to camp, dripping in just his wet boxers with pants and shirt in hand, Ignis places a bottle of fresh water in his hand before he can even say “good morning.”

When Noctis returns to camp, his erection is gone but his problems have followed. His mind is swimming. He is panting from the run, and Ignis looks at him with an intrigued but satisfied expression, reaching over the sizzling hotplate to hand him a bottle of water. He drinks the entire thing before tossing the bottle at the trash bin. He misses. Prompto picks it up and dunks it for him.

“Heya, Noct! Whatchya been up to?”

Noctis waves his hand at Prompto, dismissing the question, still trying to catch his breath. It’s obvious what he’s been up to, Prompto just likes to hear his own voice.

He collapses into a chair and Ignis brings him a cup of coffee.

“I’m enthused to see you taking initiative with your training,” Ignis tells him.

Noctis takes a sip of the coffee and savors the flavor. He isn’t tired though, he doesn’t actually need it. Endorphins have him wired and he’s buzzing with energy. It’s somewhat refreshing to be wide awake for breakfast, but he won’t give Gladio the satisfaction of telling him that.

“Gladio’s taking initiative,” Noctis answers. “You’re just happy to see me up with the sun.”

“Right you are,” Ignis says, returning to the cooking.

Ignis has Prompto stirring for him while he slices potatoes. Noctis is grateful he’s occupied because he doesn’t want to talk right now. He’s lost in his thoughts.

Is he... _gay?_ He’s never really considered it. He’s never really considered any of his sexuality, really. Maybe Gladio would have awoken this in him sooner, but he’s been avoiding looking at Gladio for two years now. Noctis assumed it was the burden of the scar, but maybe it was something else too. Maybe Noctis stopped looking at Gladio because it was too much, too intense-- like looking at the sun.  

When Gladio returns to camp, his skin is wet and his boxers cling to his thighs. Noctis would gladly go blind to not look away. 

Gladio tilts his head back and drinks a water bottle in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. When he glances in Noct’s direction, Noct wonders if he’s going to wink at him again. When he doesn’t, Noctis’ gaze is once again pulled to Gladio’s wet legs, up and down the thick trunks of muscle, pausing occasionally on his wet boxers and the shape of his flesh beneath. He follows every step Gladio takes with his eyes as he retreats to the tent to change.

WIth Gladio out of his sights, his thoughts turn to Luna.

Inside the darkness of the tent, Gladio pauses. He’s pretty sure he saw Noctis looking him up and down. He’s pretty sure he saw Noctis checking him out the same way that men in his past would, the same men that he would go on to fuck. Gladio scrubs a hand over his face; he must be seeing things.

Gathering himself together, he strips off and tosses aside his wet boxers. Gladio runs a hand over his hip and down to cup his heavy cock. He’s soft, but a wild arousal courses through him from his workout. For a moment, he wants to kneel down on the tent floor and stroke himself to completion. Instead, he lets go with a sigh and pulls on his clean-ish casual wear. He’s looking for things that are not there. He blames the freedom of the open road, the crisp natural air and pent-up arousal from close quarters with fit men. It’s been a few days since he’s been able to jerk off; next time he has the privacy a real shower, he promises himself he’ll take the time to seek release. 

Redressed, Gladio ducks out of the tent and pins his boxers up on the line outside where Ignis’ other laundry is drying. It’s a perfectly domestic little set up, and it makes a smile tug at his face.

Gladio turns back to the camp, eying his friends. Prompto seems to enjoy being bossed around by Ignis in the makeshift kitchen even though he acts annoyed, and Noctis is sprawled in his chair, water bottle in hand with the mouth of it against his plush bottom lip. He seems to be lost in thoughts, staring out at nothing in particular.

Gladio walks into the haven and drags a hand along Noctis’ shoulder as he goes, a silent message.

 He stops at Ignis to offer help, but the other man just waves him off. He sits in his chair and raises his eyebrows at Noctis.

  _No ships,_ Noctis thinks. _Lunafreya._ He thinks of his father, and his words about never returning home. _Gladio._ Noctis thinks about his increasingly erratic dreams and a grey future he cannot envision. _It is what it is,_ Noctis tells himself. A favorite affirmation of his.

He is lost in thought when Gladio walks past behind him. He drags a hand along his shoulders and Noctis sits up straight automatically. He crosses his legs.

Ignis brings him a plate of sausage and potatoes and he eats more than usual. Gladio is looking smug about it and Noctis determinedly ignores him, finally engaging Prompto and falling into his chatter; it’s the perfect distraction.

Ignis briefs them on a gig he picked up from the bartender at the resort. It sounds like a doable hunt, and they need the money, their plans nebulous with no boats on the horizon.

Noctis drives the Regalia, needing a little distance from his Shield.

Ignis leads the group up the hill North of Galdin Quay to a nest of Rubyshear hiding by the rocks. When they get close enough to assess the threat, Ignis holds out an arm to stop the group, his sharp eyes not leaving the creatures before them as he quickly devises a plan of attack.

While Ignis is thinking, Gladio’s eyes cut to Noctis, checking on the prince. He swore to make him a more capable fighter. He’s done just fine in the previous battles, but Gladio needs him to do even better. They don’t know what they could find themselves up against, Six-forbid the Regalia ever break down at night with daemons prowling.

Noctis’s face is hard with determination, he shoulders set in a way that Gladio doesn’t feel the need to correct, and his javelin gripped tightly in his right fist. He’s ready, eyes darting about the scene as he takes in the number of enemies to take down and the raised points he can warp to in a bind.

Ingis says the word and Noctis is the first to act, warping forward and slicing into the back of a Rubyshear. Gladio lights up with pride, seeing the beast clearly weakened in one blow. Prompto is hurrying over to him, guns at the ready, so Gladio turns to the next Rubyshear, swinging his greatsword at it until it keels over. 

Noctis charges forward and he warps without trying to. He swings his blade above his head and when it slices down the spine of his target, Noct’s face is splattered in salty brown blood. The beast stumbles away from him and Noctis spins to face the one approaching him from behind. He jabs at it three times, beating the animal back. Noctis is struck with a feeling of elation as the beast lands on its side, vulnerable to the next attack. He puts it out of its misery, thinking to himself that he likes to fight. It feels good to act on his impulses.

 Noctis is glad to be on the hunt. There is no room for daydreaming when hunting beasts. A lack of preparation could mean the injury of one of his men. He is enthusiastic for the distraction. 

The first Rubyshear comes back to him, gurgling and enraged, adrenaline driving it despite the mortal wound on its back. Noctis warps to the side to narrowly evade a massive claw lobbed for his skull. 

He shouts for Gladio.

“Gladio!” 

The crownsguard whips around at the sound of his name from the prince. He sees the beast Noctis is working on and jumps into action, leaping at it to slice it and calling out the perfect time for Noctis to run in with a finishing blow.

“You’re on fire today!”

Even through the chaos, Noctis running off to help Ignis put down another two beasts, Gladio can see the preening grin on his face.

The prince is fighting his best today, weaving and warping and slicing the beasts with no hesitance and a full-bodied strength Gladio is surprised by. He looks more limber than usual and much more aware. Gladio is determined to take him out the following morning as well to improve him even more. 

When the last Rubyshear falls, Gladio’s eyes land on Noctis, taking in the wild-eyed satisfaction on his typically impassive face.

With the last beast put to rest, Noctis dissolves his weapon and wipes his bloody palms on his pants. He lift his eyes to find Ignis shaking his head at him, but it does not bother him. The high of the kill still coursing through him, Noctis feels like he might burst into flames.

“Stellar work today,” Ignis says anyway, and Noctis smiles.

“Way to go, team!” Prompto shouts, practically bouncing around in excitement. Noctis accepts his high-five.

Prompto runs off to photograph the aftermath and Ignis stands next to Noctis, both of them watching Gladio while he opens burlap sacks and takes the knife in his boot to the flesh of the beasts. Gladio is covered in blood while he wrestles thick steaks of light colored meat from out of the Rubyshears’ shells, his hair damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead while he works. He’s going to need another bath. He looks… primal, crouched on his knees, occasionally putting the blade between his teeth so he may hoist and flip over the massive carcasses. Noctis imagines Gladio in the woods beyond Insomnia’s walls, jumping naked into the river and catching a fish with his bare hands, biting into the fresh flesh while the fish still thrashes. Gladio had been impressed with him today. Noctis finds that he wants to keep impressing him. 

“You’re on fire today,” he had said. Noctis still feels it, his skin hot and his fingertips restless. When Ignis says something to him, the prince does not hear it past the rushing blood in his ears.

The burlap sack is heavy when Gladio is finally finished divesting the Rubyshears of their tender meat. Gladio walks over to them, his eyes trained on Noctis’ pale face splattered in blood. Noctis’ bangs are dark and pushed aside, showing the blood that paints him everywhere except his bottom lip. As he walks closer, Noctis’ pink tongue darts out again, licking his clean lip.

Gladio holds the weighted bag out to Ignis. He takes delight in Ignis’ thin, straight lip giving the smallest twitch of disgust. That’s the only signal he gives that he refuses to take the bag, so Gladio throws it over his winged shoulder.

He looks Noctis up and down, proud of the way the prince performed in battle. Gladio thinks he should take Noctis out every morning, if he’s going to slay on the field like he just did. Noctis looks pleased and wild-eyed right now, like this is all he wants to be doing.

“You look like a right hunter covered in blood like that, Noct.”

 Ignis hums, “Indeed. You two look positively feral. I don’t know much you managed to get so filthy.”

“Don’t know how to manage to stay so damn clean. There’s no time for vanity when you’re hunting, as long as you’re doing it right.” Gladio gives Noctis a side-eyed smile then reaches to pluck a large brown shell fragment off of Noctis’ collarbone. His tosses it aside.

Noctis preens at Gladio’s comments. When Gladio steps into his personal space to groom him, Noctis’s hair stands up on end. _Alright,_ he thinks. _Okay._

At the resort, Ignis instructs Gladio and Noctis to wait outside, “like the animals you’ve become.” Prompto commences a comical struggle heaving the meat back towards the kitchen, and Ignis goes to collect their bounty.

Standing alone, _together,_ Noctis feels like he should say something to break the silence, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes flit between the ocean and Gladio, unable to rest. He’s never been attracted to someone before, and no matter how he tries to distract himself, his eyes drift back to his bodyguard every time. Noctis finds that he doesn’t mind when he’s caught staring, and soon, he stops looking away.

Waiting for the rest of their crew, Gladio finds himself pulled into Noctis’ gaze. No matter how he tries to focus elsewhere, he’s pulled back into his orbit. The blue eyes are wide and focused on him, seeming to take in all of him at once, screaming something Gladio can’t hear.

Noctis has been staring at him all morning. Gladio openly stares back, taking in the look on his face, the softness of his shoulders.

Noctis’ eyes flit between him and the ocean, and Gladio quietly realizes that Noctis doesn’t want the boats to come.

Covered in blood and gore and dressed in black, Noctis looks almost comical against the bright pale colors of the resort. He seems out of place, like he should be back in the hillside brush, cutting into beasts with Gladio at his side. The thought makes him feel warm.

There’s something behind Gladio’s dark gaze. Noctis shifts from foot to foot, studying him. Experimentally, Noctis smirks at him, and Gladio’s eyes narrow, calculating, evaluating. It’s a surprise when Gladio closes the distance between them in one stride. Noctis holds his breath, unconsciously worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Gladio’s hand comes to his shoulder and corrects his posture. Noctis remembers to breathe. With Gladio’s hand tight on his shoulder, Noctis glances out towards the blissfully undisturbed horizon.

Gladio’s hand digs into Noctis’ shoulder a moment too long. He could keep it there and not let go, except for Ignis’ voice cutting into them from behind. Gladio drops his hand to his side and turns his back to Noctis.

“I’ve procured us a room for the evening. Take your keys and I strongly advise you both immediately shower,” Ingis examines them head to toe. “A very, very thorough shower. I’ll get us some coins for the laundry.”

He hands them each a key and walks away, most likely avoiding being in close quarters with their bloody clothes.

Gladio follows the number written on the key card envelope to the fanciest digs they’ve had since they left Insomnia. The room is large and clean with two pristine white king beds and a full wall window showing them the undisturbed ocean.

It is understood that the prince will shower first, so Noctis moves wordlessly into the bathroom. He strips out of his bloody fatigues and drops them on the floor. Noctis cringes when he sees them stain the white bathmats. Ignis’ scolding hasn’t really taught him to think before he acts, but he does recognize things that will get him in trouble after the fact. He kicks his clothes to the side and flips the bathmat upside down.

The water gets hot fast and Noctis turns it up scalding so he can feel it. He feels good. The successful hunt gifted clarity, helped to organize Noctis’ mind and slow down his restless thoughts. He’ll have to remember that the next time he gets anxious, to ask Gladio to take him hunting. In his mind’s eye, Gladio swings his broadsword. Noctis tips his face back under the water and shuts his eyes _._

The future will come, there’s no stopping it. But for now, there are no boats on the horizon, and Noctis wants to entertain this a little longer. 

Setting out on this trip, he never expected to develop an attraction to one of his men. Let alone his bodyguard. The same guy who has been doing his glorified version of babysitting since Noctis was eight years old. If only he had noticed him earlier, Noctis thinks, they would have had more time. While Noctis slept away his teens, Gladio touched, and was touched. The feeling of regret cannot overpower the awakening Noctis feels now, however. It’s like experiencing a dream in his waking hours, one he does not have to let go of.

Behind his closed eyelids, Noctis sees Gladio dive into the crystal ocean. He sees Gladio with his face covered in daemon blood, and then he sees Gladio’s face covered in his own blood, the white of bone visible above his left eyebrow.

His knees go weak and Noctis catches himself with one hand on the curtain rod. He cups himself between his legs.

He hasn’t touched himself since this trip began, and it feels so good to wrap his hand around his hardening dick that Noctis cannot help but open his mouth and sigh. He steps out of the water and looks down at himself. The sight of his own pink cock makes his hand tighten on the shower rod. Noctis strokes himself, watching his flesh pass through his hand with fascination. He thinks about how small he would look in Gladio’s grip and Noctis shuts his eyes, spinning around to face the shower head.

He lets the hot water beat him in the face and he works himself at a steady rhythm. He thinks about having Gladio’s hand around his dick, about how _badly_ he wants Gladio to touch him there. He thinks about all the times Gladio _has_ touched him over the past few days. More than just correcting his posture. He’s grabbed him, lifted him, wrapped his big hands around Noctis’ hips and held him still.

Noctis moans, and he’s never made that sound before. Briefly, he freezes, turning to glance at the single door between him and his muse.

Noctis shuts his eyes and submerges himself again. He bites his lip and thinks about laying in the sand beneath Gladio, counting to one hundred.

When Noctis disappears into the bathroom, Gladio carefully toes off his boots and strips his clothes on the wood floor next to the door, careful to not let the items fall near any fabric. He can practically feel a ghost of Iggy scrutinizing him with his hands on his hips.

Stripped down to just his boxers, Gladio walks across the open room to the giant window. Out on the horizon there is not a sail in sight. He thinks about the looks Noctis has been giving him, trying to tell him with his eyes that he doesn’t want to move forward. Gladio knows giving into Noctis’ wayward desires is a betrayal of his role 

Regardless, it’s hard to deny Noctis of something when Noctis is so afraid of asking that he won’t say it aloud. Gladio sees is want and fear, not the child who used to frown and demand things of him. It’s a genuine want, something so big that he won’t dare speak its name.

For a second, he thinks he sees something on the horizon and his stomach sinks in dread. But it was only an illusion. He turns to the bathroom door when it opens.

Noctis’ pale olive skin is pink from the hot water, his wet hair plastered all over his face. He's clean, but something about him still looks wild. Maybe it’s his puffy bottom lip. Maybe it's his eyes, the brilliant blue overtaken by blown out pupils. Gladio is struck by the urge to dirty him up.

They pass each other as Gladio moves into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Once alone, he immediately kicks off his boxers and steps into the water as he turns it on.

The shower takes the salt and the grime from his skin and Gladio can inhale a lungful of steamy air and exhale it slowly, relaxing. The past few days have been work, but they have been fun, too. He enjoys his time with the other men. He gets a thrill from slashing down beasts on a hunt, exacerbated by the power he feels by having his men by his side. Gladio could happily spend a few weeks here, idly biding his time in good company. He’s pretty sure Noctis feels the same way, silently trying to tell Gladio how he’s ready to rip out the pages of the next chapter of his life.

Noctis’ eyes have bore into him so many times over the past few days. So quickly the shock of being watched has faded and Gladio has come to appreciate it. He thinks about the dark smile over the firelight, the preening grin when Gladio told him he was doing well during their last hunt, and the wide eyes on him while Gladio was doing his push-ups on the beach.

Those eyes, reminiscent of his fellow Kingsglaive soldiers he’d exchange glances with in the gym before stealing into the restroom for a quick blowjob. It sends an unbidden jolt of arousal through Gladio to picture Noctis setting a hand in Gladio’s hair and pushing him to his knees before him. Gladio’s mouth falls open unconsciously, imagining Noctis’ pink swollen cock in his face.

Gadio shudders and stares at the white tile walls before him. That thought was inappropriate, a betrayal of his sacred oath to the line of Lucis.

But.

That thought is also so delicious, so tempting. Maybe he’d been misinterpreting the Prince’s increasing watchfulness. Maybe Noctis simply wants from him what Gladio can’t help but picture now.

He thinks about Noctis peering up at him over his arms, knees tucked up to his chest on the beach while Gladio worked out. He thinks about Noctis’ stiff posture when Gladio held him on the dock by his narrow hips. He thinks about Noctis wild-eyed and grinning at him, covered in blood and reeking of desire, and he finds that his hand is wrapped around his half-hard cock, uninvited but oh so welcomed.

Noctis has been staring at him--checking him out--and thoughtless, with his cock in his hand, Gladio acknowledges that the prince is gorgeous.

If they can’t leave for Altissia, they can stay hunting in the wilderness for gil. They can live off the land and Gladio can teach Noctis everything he knows. At the end of the day, they can sink into a lake together and take each other in hand, Gladio can crowd Noctis up against a rock and take his time opening him up with his fingers, watching the pleasure build in his pretty face over his slender shoulder.

It shakes him, makes Gladio squeeze his cock as he strokes himself. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and leans his forehead against the cool tile wall as his wrist works faster, Noctis’s lust-filled eyes swimming before him. Gladio wants to give him everything he asks for, wants to bow his head and say, “My body is yours, my prince.” 

A grunt bursts low in his throat as he comes, shooting hard onto the wall. He fumbles to turn the water to cool and steps back into it, head tilted back into the spray, letting it wash over him and take his pent up sexual tension with it.

 

Drained from the hunt and satisfied from his shower, Noctis crawls on top of one the beds wrapped in his towel and falls asleep waiting for Ignis and Prompto to bring their bags in from the car.

When he wakes, he is alone in the room with Ignis. He glances around blearily, taking in the clean and folded clothes left on the edge of his bed. He had not dreamt during his nap, but now that he’s awake his thoughts immediately return to Gladio, and the fog of fantasy consumes him.

“Excellent timing, Your Highness. The others have just left to reserve a table at the restaurant. Dress yourself and we can be joining them.”

Noctis sits up promptly, discovering that someone, probably Ignis, had covered him with a blanket while he slept. He grabs his clothes, disappearing into the bathroom. He dresses himself quickly and throws the bathroom door open. Ignis watches him curiously as Noctis hustles to the front door and shoves his feet into his red-soled boots.

“You must be hungry,” Ignis comments.

“Yep,” Noctis agrees, grabbing his copy of the room key and slipping out the door several moments before his chaperone. 

Eventually he has to let Ignis catch up, because he doesn’t know where he’s going, but as soon as they’re in the restaurant, Noctis sees Gladio and Prompto sitting across from each other at a table for four and he takes off again. Seemingly unperturbed by his behavior, Ignis lingers to speak to the barkeep.

He approaches the table. Gladio looks up at him and Noctis stares down at him openly. Seeing his Shield fills Noctis with something that feels like relief. There is also an excitement coursing through him at the realization that he can sit here during all of dinner and look at Gadio and daydream.

“Hey,” he says to Gladio. And then turning to Prompto, Noctis nudges him with his elbow until Prompto scoots to the seat next to him. Noctis sits down in front of Gladio and Gladio is watching him intently. Noctis knows Gladio looks at men, and maybe he’s never looked at Noct that way before, but Noct wants him to, so he plants himself directly in Gladio’s sights. Noctis smiles sweetly at him before experimenting with something he learned from the bodyguard. He winks. 

The mindless chattering from Prompto is a welcome distraction from the traitorous thoughts of the prince. Gladio can look at the blonde across the table and lose himself in light conversations and Prompto’s good sense of humor.

The two of them are already halfway through the drinks they ordered when Noctis and Ignis appear by the bar. 

A dread sinks in Gladio’s stomach as only Noctis walks over to them. 

Gladio steels himself. Whatever he thought he saw in Noctis, he was imagining it and while it was passable and harmless to indulge in those thoughts one time in the shower, he can’t let himself conflate fantasy with reality. It’s best to squash those thoughts now before it turns into real desire. He meets Noctis’ eyes with the hardened gaze of a shield to the prince, but the softness he finds melts down the hard edges in him.

Noctis doesn’t take his eyes off him. Even when they flit away to speak to Prompto, they snap right back to Gladio, brilliant and mischievous and blue.

Prompto throws up his hands when Noctis nudges him, but he complies easily, busying himself with his drink while Noctis steals a wink at Gladio. 

Gladio feels a small spark of arousal in his gut and a wave of surprise crashes over his head to realize he wasn’t just imagining anything, the desire is clear in Noctis’ eyes.

Noctis knows he's being a little forward with Gladio, sending silent messages across the table to a man who knows how to receive them. But it hardly matters. He knows he will never be able to indulge in his recently discovered desires, and that understanding makes it easier. For as long as they're stranded here, Noctis can pretend to be someone else. 

He does enjoy himself, though. He holds the leatherbound menu in his hands, watching Gladio over it, appreciating his jaw, and neck, and collarbone. Noctis recognizes a new power, too. The ability to make someone feel flustered. The longer Noctis looks at Gladio, the more targeted Gladio behaves, shifting in his seat, avoiding his gaze. Whenever Gladio finally does look at him again, Noctis smirks and the other man reaches for a drink.

The way Noctis is behaving with him sets Gladio on edge. He doesn’t know when the switch was flipped to make the impassive prince hungry and lustful, but Noctis is staring at him like he could read his mind in the shower. The thought makes him honest-to-six blush. 

For a few minutes, he anxiously thinks he’s being mocked.

Gladio finds Noctis’ magic unpredictable, and the fear that Noctis could somehow know what he was up to in shower makes him nervous, let alone the possibly of Noctis knowing it was about _him_. Maybe it wasn’t magic at all, maybe the slick sounds of him jerking off were enough to alert Noctis. Maybe he heard the grunt he knew he let out when he came. Maybe Gladio accidentally said his name.

Gladio looks relieved when Ignis appears at the table.

“I took it upon myself to place an order for the party.”

Noctis sets down the menu. He hadn't been reading it anyway. He subtly rolls his eyes at Gladio, camaraderie in the burden of Ignis, but before he does, he sets his toe on top of Gladio's under the table, to make sure he's looking. 

Prompto chuckles too, shouldering Noctis as if to tell him not to get caught. Noctis leans forward and smiles at Ignis. 

“Thanks, Iggy.” 

The foot suddenly resting on top of his and the accompanying smile erases the paranoia that Noctis is teasing him.

Gladio lifts his toes to nudge him back.

Even Ignis seems amused. “I think you will all enjoy what I chose, but feel free to continue mocking me if you’re disappointed.”

They are seated just out from under the awning of the restaurant, and the air around them is cool. The mood is loose and relaxed, and when the waitress comes around, Ignis meets her with the slightest hint of a sly smile. “A round of drinks for the table, please. We’ll take what the other two are having.”

Prompto laughs. “You sure, Iggy? It’s strong.”

“I think the guy can handle it,” Gladio says to save face for Ignis.

“I could use a stiff drink.”

“Iggy’s the boss!” Prompto cheers. “Iggy’s buying us a round!”

The waitress walks away and Gladio nudges Ignis in her wake. He doesn’t react. 

Gladio lifts his drink to his lips and eyes Noctis over the glass rim. 

Gladio seems to relax now that Ignis is here, like Noctis will behave because he is. He keeps his foot on top of Gladio’s under the table. Gladio looks directly at him while he drains the rest of his glass and Noctis taps his foot three times with his own, raising his eyebrows for the duration of the time it takes Gladio to finish his drink. 

“Today. Was. Awesome!” Prompto announces.

“Could have gone worse,” Ignis concedes.

Noct looks away from his Shield, drawn by Prompto, who is smacking the table lightly with both hands and shaking his head.

“It was quite a day,” Noctis agrees. “Very successful.”

When a cold glass of amber liquid appears in front of each of them, Noctis smiles. They toast to a successful hunt. Noctis hits Gladio’s cup a little too fast and liquid sloshes over their fingers. When he pulls it away, he licks his fingers before taking a drink. He groans slightly upon swallowing.

“This _is_ strong,” he says to Prompto. “I’m guessing Gladio picked this out?”

“You bet,” Gladio grins, feeling a little rush of self-satisfaction when he pulls Noctis’ attention away from Prompto. “It’s good for ya, sets the mind at ease. Probably pairs with whatever Ignis blindly ordered for dinner.”

The image of Noctis licking his fingers clean is burning in the back of Gladio’s mind. It’s a long-time bad habit of the prince’s that he shouldn’t misread right now.

“If by good for you, you mean making the prince a sloppy mess, you’re on the mark!”

Noctis elbows Prompto lightly. Prompto is the one who sounds halfway to a mess, already several sips into his second scotch.

Gladio is watching Noctis, not tearing his eyes away from him as he laughs under the joke thrown his way. When Noctis looks back at him, Gladio holds his gaze as if to say, _maybe I am._ He hadn’t been considering it, but he’ll take the credit. 

 _A sloppy mess_ , Noctis thinks. He does not miss Gladio’s confident smirk at the phrasing. It means Gladio is willing to play along, and a jolt of excitement shoots up the prince’s spine. It causes him to stiffen in his pants, and Noctis spreads his legs slightly, leaning forward in his chair so that his erection presses snugly into the friction of his jeans. Something unspoken is passing between them and Noctis wonders if it always feels this good. 

The waitress reappears and Prompto cheers when the food is set before them. They tear into the first bites of their meals.

“This is delicious, but it ain’t as good as what you make, Iggy.”

Gladio could swear he sees Ignis blush, just a little. It must be the drink. He's happy to see Ignis indulge a bit, he knows he's been worrying on the behalf of the group. Their current situation is ominous, but Gladio can't bring himself to consider solutions.

Dinner is pleasant. They eat and chat and Noctis plays footsie with Gladio under the table and Gladio doesn't pull away. By the time they’ve finished, the sun is low above the water, throwing golden light across their faces.

They've licked their plates clean, and Ignis looks smug about his selections when he collects their empty dishes and stands to take them away. 

“They have a busboy for that, Iggy!” Prompto says, his volume a few notches too high.

Ignis ignores him, asking, “Can I get you guys anything?”

Prompto bursts into laughter. Noctis looks at his drunk friend and chuckles. One drink has him feeling a little heavy, definitely loose, but he’s nowhere near Prompto yet and he’s feeling jealous. He’s having a good night playing games with Gladio. He wants to see where it will go. He drains the rest of his drink and sets the empty cup down by Ignis. 

“I want another drink,” he requests.

“I'm not certain that's a wise idea,” Ignis ponders, his judgemental eyes cast downward at Prompto, whose slight frame had been quickly and dramatically affected by the alcohol. 

“I've only had one,” Noctis pouts. This, he says to Gladio.

Gladio concedes. A weakness. He holds a hand up and says, “Let the prince have fun. Another round for Noct and I. Take it out of my cut from the hunt.”

Ignis makes a face at him that Gladio ignores.

Prompto holds up his nearly empty second glass. “Another for me?”

“You’re cut off, kid.” Gladio lowers Prompto’s hand back to the table, ignoring the big pout thrown his way.

“Oh wow!” Prompto is immediately distracted, looking out over the ocean where the sun is setting and the sky is a pale orange. He scrambles for his camera and holds out to the horizon, playing with the settings until Ignis returns. Prompto stops him before he can sit. “Get up, get up, we have to take a picture!”

Prompto ushers them over to the railing over the water and takes a photo of his friends, Noctis’ hands shoved in his pockets. Then he jumps into the group and takes a selfie of the four of them. “Say, roadtrip!”

And then the camera is out. Prompto’s attention is split between the group and his camera. He reaches across the table to hold the camera in Gladio’s unsuspecting face to show him a photo of himself from behind, broadsword over his shoulder as he prepares to cut into a Rubyshear. “Gladio, you look so ripped. Doesn’t he look ripped, Noct?”

Prompto has the camera back in his own face before either of them can react.

Noctis doesn’t have to say anything. When Prompto asks Noctis about the photo, he’s pretty sure Gladio knows what he’s thinking. This time, it’s Gladio who reaches under the table, bumping his shoe against Noct’s. 

When the next round of drinks arrive, Gladio ignores Ignis’ disapproving gaze for the second time. It’s Gladio’s third glass, but he will still have the presence of mind to watch over Noctis when he is finished. They are safe in Galdin Quay, there are no beasts that approach and too many wealthy tourists enjoying the resort for any obvious danger to be lurking. He knows he can defend Noctis at a moment’s notice. The knife in his boot is ready, just in case. 

A waitress brings two more drinks and Noct signals that they are for him and Gladio. She hands them each a glass. She gives a bottle of something lighter to Ignis. Prompto is served water. Noctis picks his up and immediately takes a long drink, intending to have that fun Gladio has promised him. His Shield is watching him while he drinks. Noctis likes when Gladio watches him. For the past few days, the curious glances had been mostly one-sided. Now, Gladio seems to be indulging in the same fascination Noctis has. He wishes he knew more about what Gladio likes to look at. Noctis wants to make sure he’s enjoying the view.

Gladio has had a wealth of experience with other men. In the past, they make eye contact, they nod at each other, and they find each other in a dark corner. There aren’t a lot of words, not a lot of fanfare before or after. Those guys were soldiers, their lives bound by duty wherein any sexual release was a fleeting means to an end. It was fun. It was easy.

It’s deceptive how easy _this_ feels.

The night feels like speeding down an open road, dangerous and thrilling. There are no threats ahead if they don’t have the headlights on.

Gladio is not expecting a means to an end here. He’s not expecting anything at all. He’s just rolling with it, letting Noctis lead the way and gladly trailing along. Noctis looks like he has something to say to him, hidden behind all the heated glances. The way Noctis looks at him makes him feel important.

The script he had with the men of his past is ripped up and tossed aside. Noctis is something different, something ethereal. Gladio is lifted up in his presence.

Noctis brings the glass to his mouth and takes a surprisingly long drink that he swallows with only a small flinch. Gladio knows Noctis does not drink often and he’s only seen him with lighter drinks in the past. He wonders if it’s his own presence emboldening Noctis like this.

Gladio nods at the glass in Noctis’ hand. “I’m surprised you can handle a drink like that.”

In the dim warm light of the open air restaurant, the sun now set over the horizon and the outside world in darkness, Noctis’ eyes are all dark pupils. The smile in his eyes is playful, and Gladio doesn’t expect the thrilling response he receives: “I like them strong.”

The shock of arousal is unbidden and inappropriate.

Gladio tosses back half of his glass in one desperately needed gulp. When he looks back at Noctis, the man is still looking at him. Gladio feels like he can see his reflection in Noctis’ eyes. 

Noctis knows the night is coming to an end. Prompto has fallen quiet. When he leans his head on Noctis’ shoulder, Noctis sits still for ten minutes to let him sleep. Gladio and Ignis settle the tab.

He is more than halfway through his second drink and as the alcohol brings cynicism to hang over him like a dark cloud. He pulls his feet away from Gladio’s.

Still, he plans to appreciate Gladio until he can’t any longer. Gladio sits back in his chair to swallow his drink, leather shirt pulled open across his broad chest. Noctis takes another long sip of the bitter liquid in his own cup. He hasn’t taken his eyes off his Shield all night. He wonders who noticed.

It’s getting dark out. The flickering flames of hanging candles illuminate Gladio, but it is a weak light and he is an image fading. Noctis leans forward on his elbows, across the table in an effort to prolong it. He takes one last drink, savoring the flavor. He has never had scotch before. Noctis thinks he’ll drink scotch forever.

He gets to his feet and is immediately stunned with how drunk he is. He wobbles, and puts a hand out on the chair to steady himself. Ignis is already coming up behind Noctis to balance him. He looks down at Gladio, and feels like he will regret not doing something reckless. That was the point of drinking, after all.

Noctis asks, “Wake me up for training, Big Guy?”

 _Big Guy_ sounds so different after Noctis has been flirting with him throughout dinner.

Gladio missed the cue to stand and help him, too distracted by turning that nickname over in his head, and by the time he realizes Noctis needs help, Ignis already has a hand on his back. Foolishly, he wishes he were the once to bring Noctis to bed.

“Slow down, Prince, I think you might be too hungover for training.” And, when Ignis turns to stop Prompto heavy head from falling off the table, “But I’ll wake you up if you want to watch.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, smiling at him. “I wanna watch.” 

Ignis makes sure Noctis has his footing before guiding him off to their room.

The regret Gladio feels is set aside when he looks at Prompto passed out on the table. Gladio will need to carry most of his bodyweight. It’s clear that he was left with the more difficult drunk on purpose. Gladio puts the camera strap around his neck, and crouches down to hoist Prompto’s arm over his shoulder. He walks him slowly out of the restaurant.

When Gladio and Prompto finally enter the room after a slow tread, only the bathroom lights are on wherein he can hear Ignis rustling around, the door just slightly ajar to act as a nightlight in the dark hotel room. Gladio dumps Prompto on the unoccupied bed and takes off the blonde’s boots for him before shaking him into enough consciousness to put him under the blankets.

When the wrestle is done, Gladio stands up straight and looks over at the other bed. Noctis is flopped on top of the comforter, his boots still on, deeply asleep. Gladio is struck by wistfulness. It’s wrong. What the fuck did he expect to happen? He told himself he was not going to follow the script. This is something new, something different, and he scolds himself for being disappointed by Noctis leaving him hanging. 

These thoughts are traitorous, betraying the air of light fun he masked himself behind this evening and showing the real desire beneath: Gladio wants to touch Noctis. He wishes they had found an alcove in the hotel for Gladio to press him into and put a hand in his pants.

Gladio scratches a hand through his beard. Tonight has been a whirlwind of emotions and he’s not sure where they landed. He’ll try to wake Noctis up to watch him. Tomorrow he’ll learn whether or not the pull of watching him work out can rouse the sleeping prince from the bleariness of his hangover. Gladio isn’t expecting much. 

Ignis walks out of the bathroom to shuffle around in their bags and Gladio takes his place. While he’s brushing his teeth in the mirror, Ignis slips back into the room behind him and watching him over his large winged shoulder and he shakes the gel out of his hair. 

“Wha-?” Gladio asks around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Ignis frowns, but the set in his eyes isn’t harsh like it usually is. He’s more thoughtful, soft. “I have to express some concern.”

Gladio raises his eyebrows and continues brushing his teeth.

“I’m worried about Noctis. With us being off course, he has been acting rather strangely. I don’t expect him to be excited about his duties, but I’m sensing outright dread for them, and that’s very dangerous.”

Gladio spits out his toothpaste.

“I’m most worried that he is growing too attached to you.”

Gladio wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns around quickly, looking down at Ignis to find raised eyebrows and thoughtful eyes. It’s so different from the kind of hardened seriousness he is used to seeing in his friend. It makes him pause.

“I appreciate that you’re training him more, but he’s been following you around and seems to want your attention alone,” The emphatic way he says this makes Gladio feel like he’s seeing a deeper layer of Ignis for the first time.

“It’s nothing. Noctis is having a little fun. He’s about to be married.” 

“He was staring at you.”

Gladio quickly brushes off the fear that he’s been caught indulging in something he absolutely should not be. “Look, Iggy, I know my job. You don’t have to worry. My duty is to the prince, I won’t let him get sidetracked.” 

Ignis looks at him a moment longer, then seems to decide what he finds is enough. Ignis takes off his glasses and sets them on the countertop behind Gladio, smiling up at him, a little loose.

“Good, because the room is spinning and I need to lie down. Surely, Prompto will wake me in a few hours retching.” He pats Gladio’s bicep, “Sleep well, friend.” 

“G’night.”

Gladio waits until he hears Ignis settle into bed before he strips down to his boxers and heads to bed. Standing along the side of the mattress, he squints down to see through the natural moonlight coming it from the window. Noctis is just a dark stain on top of the bedspread and after his conversation with Iggy, he doesn’t think he should help the prince under the covers. He resists a sigh of frustration and self-loathing, lest Ignis hear him.

The night is done, there’s nothing Gladio can do about it now. He and Noctis flirted, Noctis drunkenly, lazily blew him off and Gladio was _disappointed_ about it, and now Ignis is onto him. And to think, this morning was fairly normal. Just a few hours before, he’d never jerked off to Noctis before, at least not in earnest. Swallowing his pride, Gladio lifts the covers and slides into bed, nudging Noctis’ warm splayed limbs aside to trigger the prince curling in on himself on the other side of the bed, which twists more shameful disappointment in him.

Gladio rolls away from Noctis so he can see the other two men and the ocean behind them. They are at peace, oblivious to Gladio’s inner struggles. When he is satisfied that they are asleep, he lays flat on his back, keeping the sleeping prince caught in the corner of his eye as he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! You can yell at/with us on Tumblr at df-starboy and feral-days.


	4. Earth

_Fault lines tremble underneath my glass house._

_But I put it out of my mind_

_Long enough to call it courage_

_To live without a lifeline._

_I bend the definition_

_Of faith to exonerate my blind eye._

_'Til the sirens sound, I'm safe._

 

“Earth” - Sleeping At Last

 

No one else is awake when Gladio pulls himself out of bed. He dresses in silence, feeling out of place in the lavish and spacious hotel. He hesitates standing over Noctis’ body, unsure if he should even try to wake him when he must be very hungover. Three glasses of scotch in his small body could not have gone down well and there might be regret swirling in his stomach with the bitter alcohol. To remedy last night, Gladio knows he needs to refocus Noctis. Despite the implications of working out together after flirting last night, Gladio knows that training will be good for Noctis.

He takes ahold of Noctis’ shoulder and gently shakes him. Then shakes him again, a little harder. “Hey Noct.”

Still no response.

“Noctis. Wake up, we’re going for a run.”

The sleeping prince groans and tries to weakly roll away from him. Gladio holds him in place.

“Let’s go. It’s time for your training.”

Silence.

With some shame, Gladio says, “Come watch me workout on the beach.”

Noctis whines this time, but doesn’t move to wake up.

Gladio grunts and releases him. He slips quietly out the door to take himself on a punishing morning run, hollowing out the feelings in his head and leaving himself with just his sworn loyalty to the prince. There’s no room for lust, no room for shame. He needs to fall in line and remember his purpose like Ignis warned him last night. He is a protector of the prince, that means protecting him from his wayward desires, too. Gladio pumps through his pushups without stopping, the burn in his arms reminding him of the weapon he is meant to be.

Slowly, Noctis sits up in bed. The sun is blazing through the glass walls of their hotel room and his head is screaming. He is stiff and uncomfortable in his clothes, feet cramped from spending all day and all night inside his heavy boots. Prompto greets him, sounding equally damaged. Noctis doesn’t respond.

He is desperate for a drink of water and he kills the entire glass that someone left at his bedside.

Glancing around at the room, Noctis sees Gladio standing at the far end, as far away as he can be from the prince. Noctis assumes Gladio chose not to wake him for his workout, and he shrugs internally, knowing he probably wouldn’t have been able to get up even if his bodyguard tried.

He drags himself to his feet. He’s sore from the hunt, and probably that run on the beach, and his hangover makes him move even more slowly as he walks to the center of the room. He faces Gladio, curious eyes searching for the effects of his morning routine. Gladio won’t meet his gaze.

“Where’s Specs?” he asks.

“Should be back any minute now.”

Gladio turns away from him, and looks out to the ocean. Noctis’ eyes fall away. There had been something there, last night, but it was all fun and games. The moment has passed.

The door clicks open and Ignis walks inside. Ignis’ eyes flit over Gladio and then his steely gaze meets Noct’s and Noctis knows immediately that something is wrong. They stare at each other for several moments, Ignis’ blank expression masking something dark, like he’s debating whether or not to tell Noctis what’s going on. It takes Noctis a moment longer to gather himself, and then he asks because he knows he has to.

“What’s that look for?”

“It’s in all the papers,” he says. It's not an answer and Noctis feels panicked. Ignis hands a newspaper to Gladio.

“What is?” Noctis says quickly, demanding clarification.

Ignis looks down without saying any more and Noctis feels the ground opening beneath him. Despite the sensation of falling, Noctis cannot get himself to move his feet to safety. He stands motionless, attention on Gladio and Prompto as they lean over the newspaper.

Prompto’s voice doesn’t sound like his own. It sounds like someone he doesn't know speaking through his best friend. There are only two words, but they sound garbled, poorly transmitted, miles away from home.

“Insomnia… falls…?”

Noctis waits to be woken up, but no one will meet his eyes. Confusion is replaced with anger.

“What?” he growls, attention back on Ignis, whose uncharacteristic lack of preparation has Noctis feeling abandoned. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“I need you to calm down,” Ignis says, trying to soothe him. It only makes him madder, and Noctis strides towards him angrily, his hands in tight fists at his side.

“This is as calm,” he seethes, “as I’m gonna get.” 

Ignis looks at Noctis, seething in front of him. Ignis frowns softly at him, and Noctis is reminded of the pity so many people cast his way in the years following his mother’s death. That look alone makes Noctis realize he isn’t dreaming.

“There has been an attack,” Ignis explains. “The Imperial Army has taken the Crown City.”

Noctis finds himself at Gladio’s elbow. He looks at the text on the page but his eyes are blurry while Gladio reads aloud. When Gladio tells him his father is dead, Noctis cannot process the information.

“No. Wait. Hold on.”

“We had no way of knowing,” Ignis begins, despite. Noctis cannot keep up. Unable to feel his legs, Noctis sits down facing Ignis and Gladio. He can hear Prompto sniffling through tears behind him. Gladio and Ignis say something to each other, but all Noctis can hear are the silent screams of his people. He stares down at his hands. While he was killing for sport and having his fun in Galdin Quay, his father had tried, and failed, to defend the Crown City. Were he there, maybe there was something he could have done to stop it.

“Then we go back to Insomnia,” Prompto suddenly says in determination.

“It might not be safe for us there,” Ignis warns.

“It might not be safe for us here!” his voice cracks, and Noctis can feel his terror.

 “Turn back,” Gladio says. He says it so evenly that Noctis is forced to look at him, but he sees Clarus in Gladio’s eyes and he once again has to look away.

“Yeah,” he tells the group. Cynically, Noctis notes to be careful what he wishes for.

A heavy silence hangs over them in the Regalia as they drive back to Insomnia. The drive seems shorter than realistic with the dread settling in Gladio’s stomach. He doesn’t let himself think of the uncounted casualties. He doesn’t let himself think about anything but the layout of the city and how to best infiltrate to get to the capitol, all thoughts of grief set aside until he knows more. 

“I hope everyone’s okay,” Prompto begins, breaking the silence Gladio preferred.

“Lotta good hoping’s gonna do,” Noctis bites back.

“You musn’t lose faith,” Ignis says from the driver’s seat, and Noctis huffs out a laugh. Faith has gotten him nowhere in the last twenty years. He’s sick of the optimism, he knows it’s an attempt to make him feel better and he’d much rather sit in his guilt. Plus, _all_ of the papers can't be wrong, which Ignis _already_ admitted. Noctis is not ignorant to the terrifying power of Niflheim, and now, their apparent proclivity for betrayal. Without his father, without the wall, none of them stand a chance.

“Really?” he asks, bitterly. “Can faith stop a fleet of imperial dreadnoughts?” 

“Give it a rest,” Gladio says, in a voice that’s suppose to calm him and Noctis looks at him across the bench, suddenly and instantly overwhelmed by the sight of him. In an attempt to choke back the tears, Noctis finds himself shouting.

“My old man had plenty of faith!”

Ignis and Prompto both cringe in the front seat. Gladio reaches a hand over to touch Noct’s thigh and he slaps it away.

“Enough,” Gladio says softly, just to him, and Noctis sulks in his seat.

“The empire _lied,”_ Prompto says, “they betrayed us. 

“Conjecture gets us nowhere, we’re searching for truth,” Ignis admonishes.

“All you’ll find are lies,” Noctis assures them. “Like that cease-fire.”

When they approach Insomnia, they find a giant blockade crawling with imperial troops. Prompto gasps as they roll to a stop, lifting out of his seat and drawing their attention to the sky where giant airships fly into the city. Around them, dozens of cars are stopped with speechless drivers, all eyes on the empire.

“We need to turn around,” Ignis says, already cutting the wheel.

Cars are piling up behind them, slowing to a passive, shocked stop. The Regalia needs to get out of the line of cars before they find themselves trapped. Up ahead, there are troops approaching driver’s side windows to inspect all passengers.

The military control tells Gladio that the situation is as bad he feared, Insomnia is not only fallen but under heavy Imperial control. Those left alive inside the fallen crown city’s walls must be being dragged out of their homes. 

Ignis calmly steers them out and drives them at an even pace back the other direction. Gladio has wishes he would slam on the gas, but he logically knows that Ignis’ calm demeanor is practiced and intentional. Where Gladio is hot headed and impulsive, Ignis thinks clearly: the slow driving is camouflage to keep their already inconspicuous car from being stopped by Imperials.

As the blockade fades from view behind them, Ignis flips on the news station.

With dread, news of the fall fills the open air of the car. 

Every detail makes Gladio inwardly cringe. An estimated body count is given. Nilfheim has taken the throne. And, “King Regis, Prince Noctis, and Lady Lunafreya are pronounced dead.”

Gladio turns his head to Noctis’ shocked face. The prince is staring open mouthed and unseeing at the back of the driver’s seat. All eyes are on the very real, very alive Noctis. In a panic, Prompto fumbles to turn off the radio, as if doing so will untell the news.

“Leave it on!” Gladio demands.

“Don’t bother!” Noctis bellows, his voice reverberating inside the car, drowning out the sound of rain on the roof.

Noctis doesn’t know what to believe, and he doesn’t need to hear any stories from anyone he doesn’t know. He looks down at his hands, where the anger pulsing in his veins make his fingers glow blue. He isn’t dead, _yet_ at least. It’s just more Imperial lies. It could be that Luna and his father are alive somewhere too. The brief flare of hopefulness makes Noctis feel queasy.

“If they think Noct is dead, maybe they aren’t looking for us,” Prompto says quietly, hopefully.

Noctis chuckles darkly and Gladio casts him a bitter look that the prince ignores. Prompto shrinks.

“They did not assume he died, they are planning to kill him,” Ignis grimly explains. “Every Imperial soldier must be searching for us. We need to change out of our fatigues the moment we stop.”

Noctis doesn’t say a word and while Gladio has turned his focus out to the road for signs of a threat, he keeps glancing at Noctis on high alert in case he acts irrationally. Ignis is doing the same through the rearview mirror. Prompto is fidgeting, but uncharacteristically silent. For all of Gladio’s training, he is struck uncertain. He’d been told from a young age that his life would be on the line and people around him would die, but he did not expect a war to pass without him. He tells himself what’s important: Protect Noctis, protect his friends, be wary of threats. He focuses only on those tasks. 

With shaking fingers, Noctis dials Cor. Relief floods Noctis at the sound of his voice, but his words leave him hollow.

“So, you made it.”  
  
“What the hell’s going on?” Noctis tries, his voice thin as he approaches the answers.

“Where are you?”

“Outside the city,” Noctis says, turning to look out the window and avoid the questioning gaze of his Crownsguard. “With no way to get in.” 

“Makes sense,” Cor says, and Noctis flares, his fist tightening around his phone. He feels like a child again, locked in Fenestala Manor. He was weak and recovering slowly, still heartbroken after watching his mother die, and no one had the common courtesy to tell him anything or answer any of his questions about who was coming for him and what his dreams meant and how long he had been asleep. _Helpless._ He was too young to be angry then. He’s angry now.

"Makes sense? Are you _serious?_ What about any of this make sense? The news just told me I’m dead, along with my father and Luna!” Noctis cries.  

And then, Noctis falls into silence for several long moments, his heavy breathing the only conversation on his side of the line.

Gladio takes note of the defeated slump in Noctis’ shoulders.

“Right,” he says evenly, and hangs up. Shutting his eyes, Noctis slumps against the car door.

Gladio makes eye contact with Ignis through the rearview.

“What did… the marshal have to say?” Ignis carefully prods.

“Said he’d be in Hammerhead,” Noctis answers, his eyes still closed.

“And the King?” Gladio asks.

Noctis opens his eyes to meet Gladio’s, but he does not respond.

Gladio can read it on his face and in his body. The King is dead, so must be his Shield. The four of them sitting in the Regalia are all that they can rely on. Gladio steels himself and prepares to move forward.

When they find a place to park, Ignis shucks his black insigniaed blazer before walking into the shop to purchase some curatives and pick up the local gossip from the shopkeep.

They all climb out of the car to stretch their legs before the long car ride ahead. They need to get far away from Insomnia before they can rest. They need distance to figure out what the next move is. The two linger uncertainly by Gladio as he refuels the car.

Prompto’s voice is meek, “So, where do we go?”

Neither of them respond.

“Does this mean no wedding?” Prompto asks hesitantly, red-rimmed eyes flitting between the two of them.

“You heard the news, Luna and I are dead,” Noctis says grimly, “Plus, that treaty was bullshit. If the cease-fire was a lie, so is my engagement,” he adds, with just enough misplaced satisfaction to make Prompto shrink away.

Gladio grabs Noctis’ forearm tight in his grip. He’s fixing Noctis with a hard look as he speaks to Prompto. “Noct needs to clear his head.”

He leaves Promto to finish with the car as he drags Noctis to the shady side of the outpost shop.

Noctis lets Gladio drag him behind the building. His face is tilted skyward as he watches another airship rumble through the too blue sky and unfamiliar clouds. Noctis knows his life will never be the same. He has been rid of family and home and he tries to settle into the sickening peace of helplessness, because there’s nothing else he can do.

_Take heed. Once you set forth, you cannot turn back._

Noctis cannot shake the idea that his father knew this was going to happen. He realizes with numb horror that he did exactly what the king told him not to. They are too close to the Crown City. They are not safe here. What had felt like a cold dismissal was perhaps, to his father, a painful goodbye. He can see him now, frail with his cane, chasing after him on the stairs. Noctis squeezes his eyes shut against the threat of tears. 

Gladio is still holding his arm, unwilling to let go. He squeezes and Noctis turns to face him.

Dark storm clouds gather behind Gladio’s eyes. Noctis knows he’s thinking about what no one will say. If the King is dead, so is his Shield. Gladio hides the pain of his father’s loss behind duty. He’s trying to stay collected for Noctis’ sake. How tragic, Noctis thinks, to be born into the service of a doomed line. His eyes trace slowly down the length of his scar and back to meet his eyes.

How many days do they have left until they are found?

Noctis twists his wrist out of Gladio’s grasp and Gladio takes a step away from him. Noctis follows him, grabbing the open front of his leather shirt in both hands. For a moment, Gladio braces like he’s going to pull away. Noctis takes advantage of the hesitation. Pushing him back against the wall, Noctis stands up on his toes and kisses him. 

Gladio is taken off guard, shaken down to his core. He is meant to predict every move of the prince. Despite last night, he didn't see this coming. 

All Gladio feels is soft lips insistent against his slack mouth and small fists tight in his shirt that are crushed between their chests. Noctis is up against him, pushing into him like he’s trying to crawl inside. 

For several terrifying seconds, Noctis isn’t sure Gladio will ever kiss him back. He tugs hard at his clothing, kissing him again and again, desperate for a reaction. 

Gladio doesn’t know how to react, what to do to diffuse the situation, but then Noctis whimpers, a soft and sorrowful needy sound, and Gladio acts. He grabs Noctis’ narrow shoulders and spins him around, pressing him into the wall and looming over him to shield him from the world. He opens his mouth into Noctis’ and the primal sound of relief that comes from the smaller man spurs him on, assures him he is taking care of Noctis the way he is sworn to. 

Against the wall, Noctis doesn’t need to hold himself up anymore. Some sort of choked sound escapes him and for a second he is embarrassed, but it just makes Gladio kiss him deeper. He slumps back against the wall, opening his mouth to Gladio as the other man enters him with his tongue.

Gladio squeezes Noctis’ shoulder as he pushes into his mouth, his tongue exploring the soft space behind his straight white teeth. Kissing has never felt this meaningful before. Never has he tried to express with lips and tongue anything but lust, but this is so much more than that. The pain of their families dying, their homes destroyed, and their uncertain futures are all distant memories when Gladio slides a hand up to Noctis’ sharp chin, tilting his head to lick farther into his mouth.

Gladio is touching his face, and Noctis wants to touch him too. He loosens his fingers on Gladio’s shirt and only when he feels the pain in his joints does he realize how hard he’d been holding on. He flattens his hands on Gladio’s shoulders and drags them upwards over the sides of his neck. He has to reach above himself, but Noctis grabs at the towering man, one hand on the back of Gladio’s neck, the other hooked across his back, imploring him to stay. Gladio kisses him like he’s trying to promise he will. _He can’t leave,_ Noctis thinks. _He serves me._

The thought makes Noctis smile into the kiss.

Finally, Gladio releases his mouth, and Noct breathes through wet, swollen lips. He’s still hanging onto him. With Gladio shielding him from the world, Noctis can see nothing but the other man, dark and powerful and protective. Gladio speaks. 

“They’re looking for us.” 

Noctis is about to answer “I know” when he realizes he’s misinterpreted. He can hear Ignis’ heeled boots tap the pavement as he approaches the side of the building. They separate. 

Gladio scrubs the evidence from his lips. They feel vulgar, like Ignis will see everything he needs to know in their swelling.

When Ignis finds them, his eyes dart studiously between them. Gladio can see the fear starting to fray his sharp edges.

“Are you alright?” He asks, but he doesn’t seem to be targeting either man in particular.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gladio answers for both of them, waving a hand in the air that trivializes every problem hanging over the group. “Noct just needed a minute to breathe. Did Prompto say something to worry you?”

“It’s what he didn’t say. Prompto did not open his mouth at all, which was highly unnerving.”

Gladio can see that Ignis and Noctis are both uneasy, so he takes to his duty of protection. He puts a hand on both of their backs and leads them to the car where Prompto is pacing. Ignis composes himself enough to get behind the wheel and they take off for Hammerhead to regroup far from Insomnia and rest for the night. Ignis says they will develop a plan when they arrive, but Gladio knows all four of them would benefit from quietly processing and a good night’s sleep.

In the back of the car, Gladio doesn’t look at Noctis but he keeps tabs on him in the corner of his eye.

He needs to pull Noctis aside to ask him what happened at the outpost without risk of the others interrupting. He needs to reach out and touch him to make sure he’s still with him. The whirlwind of mixed signals over the past forty eight hours is giving him whiplash, and he wants to steal somewhere with Noctis to grab his face and tell him to be honest with him.

Gladio’s life has been structured to prepare him to be Noctis’ shield proper, when the boy becomes a man. He thought he was prepared, but sparring on the mat and walking him home from school do not begin to match up to the duty he is meant to face when war has torn their home and they are on the run from the empire.

His job is to protect Noctis as he finds his way in a world that wants to be rid of him. His job is to make sure Noctis is always follows his chosen path, and the two of them making out behind a rest stop is a direct violation of what Gladio has been raised to do. When Noctis makes the wrong choice, Gladio should steer him right, not press him into a wall and open his mouth to Noctis’ tongue.

But, Insomnia has fallen and everyone Gladio knows is dead except the three men sitting with him. Gladio’s world was quickly narrowed down and he does not know what time they have left. He knows that for all his training to avoid making mistakes, kissing Noctis felt safe, and only a little taboo. Maybe it’s okay to take comfort in each other in their final days. The thought makes his stomach knot. 

Noctis watches the countryside roll by the Regalia, deceptively serene. If he looks out any window for long enough he can shut out everything behind him and convince himself he’s alone in a room. It works now, too.

There are too many things to think about, so Noctis thinks about the one thing that doesn’t hurt: kissing Gladio. It was the first time he kissed anyone like that, his mouth open, Gladio’s tongue moving around inside. It had been weird. Noctis liked it. He wants to do it again, with more time to let his hands roam Gladio’s planes.

Ignis almost caught them. What would have happened if he had? He can’t even envision it in the midst of their surreal day. He feels like he has woken up into someone else’s life, the characters present distantly familiar but just out of reach.

He glances briefly at the back of Ignis and Prompto’s heads. Prompto leans against the window, silent and still. Noctis feels a pang of guilt; for him, this trip was supposed to be fun. Ignis defaults to composure, but even his silence is unnerving in the wake of tragedy. Noctis isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to them, and every moment that passes makes them feel further away. Noctis looks at Gladio, who meets his eyes quickly. Gladio _doesn’t_ feel out of reach. Noctis can still feel the weight of his body pressing him back against the wall. With some difficulty, Noctis peels his eyes from him and looks back out the window. He’s lived long enough to know that every single one of them will be taken from him in violent and unfair ways. Probably sooner than later.

With guilt, Noctis hopes Gladio is the last to go. 

Noctis is often struck with the feeling that he is a bad person.

He thinks about yesterday’s exhilarating hunt and the drunken dinner that followed. They were perched atop a shipless sea, watching the sun set for the last time. Noctis wonders if that, perhaps, it was that feeling of freedom he found on the road that caused this to happen. Maybe he wanted to prolong his future so badly that he actually willed it.

He thinks it could be true. There are things Noctis deserves. He is the Chosen One, after all. He doesn’t know what it _means_ to be the Chosen One, though. The only person who had any hope of explaining it to him in a way he could understand is presumably dead. _Luna._ Noctis feels a new swell of grief. Even if he wanted to do something to help her, or save her, or… avenge her, there’s no way he could. He’s being hunted; it won’t take long. If this tragedy was designed to punish him, Noctis can accept that.

But it doesn’t mean he’s not going to get something out of it in return.

Noctis looks at Gladio across the backseat.

Of course, when they reach Hammerhead, Cor has already left. Frustration clenches between Noctis’ shoulder blades and he stands back while Ignis and Gladio greet Cindy and Cid. He follows them into the garage and stares at the floor while Ignis and Cid confirm what he already suspected. 

All talk of peace had been lies. Niflheim is after the Crystal and the King’s ring, like they’ve _always_ been. Noctis knew they were not to be trusted, and he would have told his father as much, if his father would have ever made the time to talk to him. But he was absent for dinner time again and time again, until Noctis stopped trying to eat at the palace all together. It had been years since he had a real conversation with his dad, and with another swell of grief, he realizes he will never have one again.

“They played my father for a fool,” Noctis says bitterly. It was no way for a King to go. If only he had been there, or his father hadn’t kept so many secrets… Once again he wonders what his father had known about the peace treaty, wonders why he sent Noctis away at such a crucial time.

Cid retorts, “He saw this coming from a mile away, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.”

The confirmation of his suspicions hits Noctis like a punch to the gut. He lifts his eyes then to meet Cid’s through the dimly lit garage, but Cid has nothing useful left to say. Noctis watches him walk slowly out of the garage and he can’t help but think that Cid should be using a cane. He has to look away sharply, but his eyes only zero in on a framed picture of Cid, his father and their friends in their prime, undoubtedly on a road trip much like the one he had been sent on with Gladio, Ignis and Prompto. Noctis presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes to stop the tears before they start. 

They are to find Cor in a tomb, of all places. The whole situation seems to be like a dream. Noctis pointedly ignores Gladio all day. In fact, he doesn’t look at any of his men, even though he can feel their eyes on him like six hot beams burning into his skin. He can't stand it, this personal waking nightmare on display for them to see. Their concerned and calculated gazes are too much for Noctis to handle. He tells himself to keep his head down and move numbly forward, and eventually, he’ll wake up from this reality into one that makes more sense.

Upon seeing Cor, however, anger flares in Noctis once again and the numbness that had protected him through two hours of spelunking burns away in seconds. 

“At last, Your Highness.” 

“Yeah, wanna tell me what I’m here for?” Noctis asks, staring down at the stone face of the encased King before him. He doesn't know what numerical of Greats this King is to him, and Noctis feels resentment towards Cor as it becomes obvious that his father shared more information with the Immortal than his own Heir Apparent. 

“...To claim your forebear’s power is your birthright and duty as king.”

The words sting. It’s not like Noctis had ever really looked _forward_ to ascending the throne, but now there _was_ no throne, and it feels like a sick joke coming from Cor. His fists clench at his side, his eyes unwavering on the stone corpse. 

“My duty as king of what?” Noctis asks softly, to himself.

“Now is not the time to question your calling,” Cor says in the same chastising tone so many of his father’s men have used with him in the past. “A king is sworn to protect his people.”

Noctis does not realize Cor is referring to him. Gladio can see it plain in his face. The day has a fast spiral of tragedy and clipped information, and Noctis has not begun to process what they death of the King now means for him. Noctis has been raised all his life to lead, but with the aloof disinterest of someone who does not think the future will come. Gladio glances at Ignis and sees the close examination of Noctis that he must be wearing on his own face. 

“And yet he chose to protect only one prince,” Noctis says in disbelief. “Was that his calling? To forsake the masses to spare his own son?”

 _It wasn’t worth it_ , Noctis says to himself. _I should be dead._

Gladio doesn’t take his eyes off of Noctis. In the hunch of his shoulders and the clench of his fists, Gladio can he can see the fresh wound of sorrow bleeding from Noctis. Today has been trying, every new thing they learn clearly guts Noctis, and Gladio thinks that if the day does not stop soon, Noctis is going to tip.

“How long will you remain protected? The King entrusted the role of protector to you.”

“ _Entrusted_ it to me” Noctis repeats, his hurt boiling closer to the surface with every word. “Then why didn’t he _tell_ me that. Why did he stand there smiling as I left? Why--”

And then he cannot fight the tears any longer and Noctis’s hands land on the edge of the sarcophagus as he succumbs. “Why did he _lie_ to me…” 

“...he wanted to be your _father._ He always had faith in you, that when the time came, you would ascend for the sake of your people. _”_

He can’t help but think bitterly that his father hardly achieved his patriarchal goals, unable to even meet with Noctis in private before sending him away, but there’s that word _faith_ again, as if faith was the only hope against Niflheim they had. The echo chamber of the tomb amplifies the sound of his own sobbing and Noctis knows everyone is waiting for him to speak.

Gladio has seen Noctis cry before, though the other man often tried to hide it from him in shame, scrub at his eyes and turn his face away so his hulking fight instructor could not see his weakness. It always rendered Gladio speechless. He always wrote off his urge to scoop him up and tell him he is here for him as a leftover response from dealing with his young sister. Now, the want to comfort him with affection is different. A voice in his head he hardly recognizes as his own tells him that if he kisses Noctis right now, the crying would cease and the hurt would melt away. He considers reaching a hand out to lay it on Noctis’ heaving shoulder, but his arm does not move. He watches Noctis cry from a distance, wishing he could do more.

“Guess he left me no choice,” Noctis sighs. He’s never had a choice, and he had been a fool to assume otherwise. As a Prince, Noctis does not belong to himself, he learned that a long time ago. Standing upright, his face still wet with tears, he takes a deep breath and tells himself that he simply forgot. 

And then, for some reason, Noctis knows what to do. He puts his hand out and opens himself up the way he does when he’s collecting elements from the earth, and the ancient sword turns from stone to light before their eyes and hovers above them in the tomb. When the sword suddenly plummets towards him, Noctis doesn’t even have a chance to brace himself before he is penetrated, and he feels the weapon enter him with a searing heat that doesn’t hurt. Bringing a hand to his chest, Noctis touches the place the sword pierced him, but finds no wound. He can feel the sword settle inside of him, along side his engine blade and his companions’ arms. It pulses in an intriguing way and Noctis wants to use it. Cor is saying something, but the Prince cannot hear him through the ringing in his ears.

Cor departs. They go to Keycatrich Trench, and Noctis makes use of his new royal arm to claim yet another. Noctis is still mad at his father, at the immovable path he is intended to follow, but with every weapon that he takes in Noctis finds that the anger turns into something more like passion. He will follow this path, do what he must, and sooner rather than later, the assassins will find him and he will be released. Each one of his forefather’s souls seem to bind to his in a way that makes Noctis feel less trapped by this fate and more gifted with it. When Prompto asks specifically how it feels, he answers cooly, “It feels like I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

It feels like a lot more than that, but Noctis would prefer to keep these feelings to himself for the time being. Noctis is still trying to process his situation, the obligation he has to at least follow this road until they meet their end. He doesn’t know how to explain to his friends that they should all expect death in the coming days. Plus, the axe is really, really cool, so he’ll just stick to that. 

Gladio keeps a close eye on Noctis, but is repeatedly surprised to find that the other man is following Ignis’ suggestions without complaint, even taking the lead at times, which is a surprise to Prompto and Ignis as well. As a boy, Noctis often shied from a fight, it took until his late teens for Noctis to start to fight back when Gladio would knock him down too many times without mercy or when he would fail a trial put forth by his father, but he strength with which he began to fight those boyhood challenges were nothing like what they are experiencing today. If Gladio has been asked three days ago, he would have said Noctis is not ready for war. Gladio barely thought Noctis was ready to be married off. But Gladio notices that for all the tragedy that has just befallen Noctis, he is already beginning to set his shoulders and ask questions about how to press forward.

Prompto suggests they go to the Crow’s Nest for dinner, and even Ignis doesn’t put up a fight about a paid meal. They ask for a booth in the far back corner of the diner and Ignis has to sweep away a newspaper with its blaring INSOMNIA FALLS headline.  Despite the long grueling day, they find that their appetites are low.

Conversation while they wait for their meals is sparse and clipped. The usual banter that follows them like a fifth friend is missing. Gladio can’t believe that just the night before they were drinking too much scotch in a beachside resort. Just a few hours ago, Noctis was playing footsie with him and smirking at him over a drink.

Though now Noctis is far from last night’s playful smirk, his wide hungry eyes are still locked on Gladio.

The mood of the day is grim, but Gladio wants to indulge in Noctis’ watchful gaze. The pain of loss and fear of uncertainty disappeared when he pressed into Noctis’ mouth and felt the other man relax in his grip, giving himself over to Gladio. He wants to do that again, to shut out the rest of the world for a few private moments where they can pretend they aren’t close to death.

Gladio meets Noctis’ hungry eyes and does not falter, silently answering Noctis’ call.

For dinner, Noctis has three cups of coffee. He cannot seem to stay awake today. He knows it’s stress, but unless someone is directly speaking to him or giving him a task, his head will fall forward and he will drift off in moments. It already feels like weeks, instead of hours, since he saw Cor in that tomb, since Cor explained to him his irreversible fate. He can hardly remember the order of the events now, reality intertwined with short stretches of deep sleep, never sure what things happened in the real world and what were dreams. He would have to check Prompto’s camera later.

The coffee hits his empty stomach poorly, sickly sweet and too thin with no food to cling to. He’s getting a little jittery, but at least he’s awake. He’s finally able to turn his gaze back to Gladio. He feels like they haven’t seen each other in hours, not like this, their eye contact is a private conversation, a haven. Today has felt like an avalanche of heartbreak and responsibility and Noctis wants to default to the only thing he is able to make sense of now-- that kissing Gladio was good, and Gladio kissing him back was even better. He thinks back to dinner the night before in Gladin Quay, can recall the glint in Gladio’s eyes as he began to play along with Noctis’ game. They’re watching each other across the table now, too, and while so much has changed in the last twenty-four hours, Noctis feels like things would be different today anyway, even if Insomnia were still standing.

With impulse for sick humor, Noctis considers putting his foot on top of Gladio’s under the table. He refrains.

Gladio offers to pay for the dinner, and he lets the rest of them scatter while he stays behind. With a jolt of fear, Ignis stays with him when he approaches the bar to settle their tab. Although he has had a hundred private conversations with Ignis in the past, the terrible topic of last night’s chat has him wary of serious talk. With relief, Gladio realizes that Ignis is staying behind to ask the barkeep for locations of nearby havens. 

Still, on the way outside to meet the other two, Ignis says to him, “You and I must be strong. This is what we were raised to do.” 

Gladio grunts in assent.

At the car, Ignis wordlessly traverses his apprehension of driving at night and climbs into the driver’s seat of the Regalia. The sun is low in the sky as they hit the road and by the time they reach the road nearest to the haven, they need to switch on their chest lights. Fearing the car being recognized, Ignis parks it under a nearby cover of trees.

Unwilling to let Noctis out of his sight, Gladio commits himself to doing most of the work setting up camp. He walks them downhill to the haven with the fireside tools in hand, sets up the chairs and firepit for them, then after making silent eye contact with Ignis to ensure that he won’t let Noctis out of his sight, he takes another trip to the car for the tent and cooking supplies. When he gets back, he finds Noctis sitting on the ground in front of the crackling fire. Noctis looks up at him.

Gladio peers over his shoulder every minute or so while he sets up to make sure Noctis is where he left him. He occasionally stands and moves position, but Gladio is relieved to find that he isn’t trying to wander off. Noctis seems mostly content to putter around their space. The look on his face is distant and thoughtful, but not dismal. For the moment, he seems okay. Gladio has found himself repeatedly surprised throughout the day at the way Noctis is handling his new tragedy, though he does not yet seem ready to accept his Kingship.

The fireside chat is strained. No one speaks much, even Prompto is quieted. The mood of the group is starting to feel exhausted, but whenever Gladio and Noctis make eye contact over the fire, the air is electric.

Nightfall is like a countdown until Gladio can safely corner Noctis into a conversation about whatever is passing between them and how different it is from last night. Gladio didn’t know how he would address last night’s interactions, he is even less sure of how he will address today’s. They kissed. It had, momentarily, erased everything. Gladio wants to talk about it, maybe blot out the world a little longer.

Gladio is horribly disappointed to find Noctis is the first one to drift off in his chair. 

The campfire is warm. Noctis is tired. It’s been a very long day and Noctis is ready to put it out of his thoughts. He can tell Gladio wants to talk to him, but Noctis doesn’t want to talk. He tries to tell Gladio as much by replaying their kiss in his head every time their eyes meet. He doesn’t know if Gladio gets the message, but the longer Noctis indulges, the more his thoughts start to wander. It becomes a wonderful distraction from reality. He looks back at Gladio across the campsite and thinks about Gladio kissing not just his mouth, but his neck, and his stomach and his cock, too.

It’s dark out, so Noctis rests his hand over his erection through his pants. Eventually, he falls asleep. 

It isn’t much later when Ignis wakes him with a request for help with breakfast in the morning. Mornings aren’t really his thing, but Noctis is alarmed by the look in Ignis’ eyes. He knows that Ignis needs to feel some semblance of control over their situation, and so Noctis agrees. Ignis rises and says something to Gladio that Noctis misses. Wordlessly, Prompto retreats to the tent and shortly after, Ignis follows. 

And just like that, they’re alone. It happened so suddenly, and the last time they were alone, Noctis had kissed him and Gladio had kissed back. Noctis looks at Gladio now and his bodyguard is already looking at him. Uncertain as to why, Noctis begins to shake. 

“Hey,” Gladio says when they’re alone. 

It’s a low, gruff tone. He moves to the chair closest to Noctis and he can see his face clearly in the firelight. There are questions on his tongue that he had been preparing himself to ask all day: _are you okay_ , _why did you kiss me_ , and _I liked it, did you_ , but he finds that when he is looking at Noctis under the somber light of the horrible events that transpired today, he cannot voice them. All his questions seem weak or inappropriate for the mood. He sits in silence closely watching Noctis. 

“We should go to bed,” Noctis says, not looking at him, desperate to avoid conversation. Faced with the reality of everything that has happened, Noctis is terribly afraid Gladio is going to deny him, to tell him it was a mistake, that it can’t happen again. Noctis knows their end is near and he wants to hang on to the fantasy for just a little bit longer.

“Sit out here with me for a few minutes,” Gladio tries to grab his attention, but Noctis is pointedly ignoring him. He tries to push past the disappointment rising in him that he is about to receive an even more devastating rejection than the night before. 

“No, I’m exhausted.”

Gladio grabs Noctis’ wrist and he can feel the tremor in Noctis’ bones. He looks at the wrist in his hand, his fingers wrapped all the way around, and he can see the shake. When he looks at Noctis, he can see it in his face too. 

Noctis sees the concern in Gladio’s face and has to look away. He doesn’t want to talk about it, about the kiss, or their dads, or their doom. There is just… too much going on. There is too much to feel. Noctis is overflowing. He just wants to go to bed so that he can avoid this conversation and the realities Gladio wants him to face. 

Plus, Noctis admits to himself, he doesn’t exactly know what comes next with them. Looking at Gladio across a room is easy, where company and courtesy prevent actually addressing whatever it is that is happening. Noctis isn’t good at talking. Alone by the campfire, Noctis isn’t sure what he would say about what transpired between them. 

And he thinks Gladio sees his trepidation, because Gladio concedes saying, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, we should get some sleep. Think you can put this fire out?” 

Noctis says yes with a surprisingly precise shot of snow. He laughs to himself in satisfaction. Gladio is still holding his arm.

Gladio leads him towards the tent. Noctis looks at the stars.

Gladio does not release him until he opens the tent for Noctis to crawl inside. He kicks off his boots and climbs in after him. Once inside, Gladio moves cautiously as to not disturb the others. He checks that his sword is still in place. He rolls on his side so he can see his three companions. They all seem peaceful, except for one.

As soon as Noct’s head hits the ground, he can tell sleep will not come. To be so tired and trapped awake temporarily pushes Noctis towards grief. He regrets the third cup of coffee. _Insomnia,_ he thinks. _How ironic._  

Noct continues to shake.

Gladio reaches out again and holds Noctis’ thin arm to feel the quake in his bones. Gladio’s grip is less firm this time, just holding him as if to say _I’m here. Today has been a nightmare, but I’m here_.

Noctis is relieved when Gladio’s hand finds him once more, his rough knuckles brushing over his bicep. The touch is a pull he cannot resist. Noctis rolls over to face him and Gladio opens his hand to cradle his elbow. Gladio’s thumb strokes patterns into the sensitive skin of his inner elbow. Noctis watches it. He can feel Gladio searching him but he doesn’t want to look away from his hand to meet his eyes. 

He’s seen these hands, he thinks. In a dream.

Noctis will not look at him, but he does not pull away from him either. For all Gladio can interpret the touch is welcome, so he holds him still, stroking over his skin to fruitlessly quell the shaking.

Eventually, the breathing across the tent evens out. The other two men have long stopped fidgeting. The sudden silence inside the tent calls to him, the wind in the trees and the songs of crickets seem miles away. It’s so dark in the tent, but when his focus narrows in on Noctis, he can almost see the dark fan of eyelashes over his ghostly white cheeks as he looks down at Gladio’s hand on him. He wishes that Noctis would meet his eyes, at least lift his chin so Gladio could read his face. 

With his other two companions asleep, Noctis is surprised to discover how alone he and Gladio feel. He's so rarely one of the last ones up like this. It's Gladio’s hour, and Noctis is intrigued to be awake for it, for once. Even though he cannot find sleep, he is comforted by Gladio’s presence, his thumb stroking along his arm, the sound of his slow breathing. For a second brief moment in a stormy day, Gladio provides Noctis some peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at/with us on Tumblr at df-starboy and feral-days.


	5. Devil's Spoke

_But I am your keeper_  
_And I hold your face away from the light_  
_I am yours til they come_  
_I am yours til they come_  
_Eye to eye_  
_Nose to nose_  
_Ripping off each other’s clothes_  
_In the most peculiar way_  
  
“Devil’s Spoke” - Laura Marling

 

The silence in the tent fills Gladio’s head, it seems to be screaming at him, scolding him on duty and responsibility and tragedy. He does not want to hear it. He doesn't want to wait anymore.

Gladio leans over and presses his lips into Noctis’.

Noctis isn't expecting it at all. He gasps slightly, causing Gladio to suddenly to pull back. Noctis reaches for him. Gladio is certain he has made a mistake. Noctis doesn't want this and he's made a mistake. Gladio jerks backwards but is held in place by Noctis’ small, trembling hand on his bicep. The grip is firm, the intent clear: don't go anywhere. 

Gladio answers his call by kissing him again. And again. His free hand cups Noctis’ jaw to keep him close while he mouths at Noctis’ soft lips. Gladio can feel his own heartbeat echoing through him. 

Kissing Gladio is even better the second time. He is being so soft against his mouth, big hand on Noct’s face, fingers fluttering above his jaw and occasionally touching down to push a piece of hair behind his ear. For a few moments, Noctis lets himself be kissed and his shaking ceases. 

Perspective is delivered: death is coming, but Gladio is _here._

Noctis’ hand tightens on his bicep, his other coming to rest on Gladio’s chest, where his necklace hangs over warm mounds of soft muscle. He lets his hand wander for a moment, and then Noctis is shaking again, but for different reasons.

Boldly, he presses his tongue out to lick at Gladio’s lips.

Gladio lets Noctis inside as soon as he asks. His tongue reaches out to meet him, but he lets Noctis’ curiosity lead him around.

Gladio distantly knew that Noctis’ experience in these sort of matters had to be limited, but it's becoming more clear to him as he kisses Noctis that the other man has had very little intimacy. The trembling in his bones and the unpracticed route of his tongue show a blind eagerness that Gladio encourages by playing his fingers over Noctis’ jaw, pushing the long strands of his hair and tracing his ears. He keeps Noctis in place while they kiss so he can press close to him. It's so soft. So new. Gladio wants to spend hours figuring out what will make Noctis’ hand squeeze his arm.

Noctis still isn't sure what's supposed to happen next, but he doesn't want to stop kissing Gladio, so he sticks with that. His lips feel puffy with attention, and Gladio’s lips are even thicker than his, soft and wet and careful. Gladio momentarily sucks his lower lip into his mouth and Noct’s hands grab at Gladio where he holds onto him in an attempt to keep the tent from spinning.

He needs to be closer to him. Their faces are pressed together but their bodies are apart, separated on top of their sleeping bags. Noctis shifts forward, rustling the material. He slides over to him until his knees are pressed into Gladio’s thighs and his toes press against his shins. 

Gladio sighs into Noctis’ mouth when their legs come into contact. Just the slightest bit more skin awakens the greed for more. Gladio’s hand trails from Noctis’ jaw to his neck and down over his back, drawing him closer and petting up and down his spine, daring to reach up under his shirt to find warm skin beneath. Noctis is so small under his hands. Distantly, he knows they need to be quieter, but the thrum of his heartbeat in his head is louder than his fingertips sliding over Noctis’ inviting skin and the sleeping bags beneath them whenever they shift.  

Gladio tilts his head and digs into Noctis’ mouth. He swears he can taste the desire on his tongue and he wants more. Gladio traces his teeth, his lips, his tongue, surprised and delighted that Noctis meets him at every turn. They kiss until they can't breathe.

The big hand on his bare skin beneath his shirt makes the prince’s heart race.  

Gladio tips away from him to catch his breath and though Noctis cannot breathe either, it doesn’t matter because he cannot stop kissing him now. He follows him with enthusiasm, mouth falling to Gladio’s neck where it is exposed as he rolls back. He kisses the skin just like he was kissing his mouth, with his lips parted and his tongue exploring.

Gladio sighs and Noctis feels a flare of thrill at the ability to affect him. Gladio arching his neck into the sensation of Noct’s kiss makes him feel hot, and Noctis finds himself pressing his hips forward into Gladio’s side. He puts a leg over him, leaning over him to climb on top. Gladio’s hand slides down to settle at the small of his back.

Across the tent, someone shifts and Gladio feels like his heart drops out for a moment before the person settles back into sleep. Sounds like Prompto. As the threat dies down, Gladio finds the hard grip he had on Noctis’ back, like he was ready to roll Noctis under him and defend him as he's been trained to do. His heartbeat slows.

Gladio knows he needs to put a stop to this before they're caught.

He puts a hand on Noctis’ chest to guide him back. He maintains eye contact through the dark, not wanting to rupture the electricity flowing between them. He crouches across the sleeping men and silently lifts the Regalia keys from beside Ignis.

Noctis doesn't _want_ to stop, but when Gladio deftly plucks the keys to the Regalia from beside Ignis, he hesitates. He's still not eager to put words to what is happening, and he can tell Gladio has questions begging for answers. He watches Gladio through the dark, his eyes sharp and demanding as he holds out a hand and beckons Noctis to follow him. 

Trembling, Noctis takes his hand. He tells himself that it's simple: if Gladio wants to talk, Noctis can just kiss him instead. 

Gladio picks up his sword.

The Regalia looks ominous where it is parked off the road, hidden in a thicket of trees. Gladio’s hand is on his lower back, guiding him towards it. Noctis watches the moonlight catch on the edge of Gladio’s sword while they walk. He's offered to store the weapon for him several times, but Gladio always refuses.

When they slide into their places in the backseat of the Regalia, Gladio locks the doors and looks at Noctis. Through the dark, he can see the apprehension on his face.

The car doors shut with definitive clicks and the sounds of wind and crickets are instantly muted for the heavy silence between them that Gladio breaks immediately.

“So, what brought all this on?” 

Noctis simply pretends not to hear him. The car is too roomy, Gladio is too far away. He scoots to the typically unoccupied middle seat so that he can feel Gladio’s thigh against his. Noctis cannot meet his eyes, so looks at Prompto and Ignis’ unfilled places instead. He he lays a quivering hand on Gladio’s knee and it looks small against him.

“Noct…” Gladio begins, his voice low. Noctis turns to kiss him.

It's clear that Noctis is avoiding the question. Gladio can't let that happen. Gladio’s sworn duty is to protect Noctis and make sure he always makes wise decisions. Gladio is meant to think clearly when Noctis cannot. On a day full of tragedy, Gladio knows Noctis is vulnerable to behaving irrationally. 

When Gladio pulls his mouth away, Noctis doesn't let it stop him. His hand slides up Gladio’s thigh to rest on his hip, and he turns sideways on the seat to get at Gladio’s neck. He kisses from jaw to his collarbone and back. Gladio’s skin is salty and Noctis can feel his pulse hammering up against his lips. 

It’s too easy to give himself over to the mouth exploring his neck. Gladio wants to arch into Noctis’ exploring hand, but instead he holds himself still on neutral ground. He tips his head back under Noctis’ touch and lets him do as he wishes to him. Every touch of lips and hands makes him want to give in more, makes him want to throw away the rulebook and indulge in how good it feels to be alone with Noctis, exploring each other.

But he shouldn’t. He _can’t_. Noctis is in mourning and he’s avoiding conversation on purpose. Gladio cannot touch him without getting answers.

“I wish you'd talk to me instead of trying to distract me. You’re very tempting but I'm gonna need some answers.” 

Despite his words, Noctis feels like he's starting to wear Gladio down, the other man sighing and relaxing back against his seat, just slightly. Once again, Noctis finds himself wild for Gladio’s reactions, and Noctis bites down lightly on his neck, hungry for more of them.

Gladio gasps when Noctis bites him. It’s not a sound he usually makes during sex, usually there are no surprises with fast hookups, but Noctis is new and unpredictable and not just a hookup. His thumb on Noctis’ hip rubs up under the shirt to find his warm skin. Just that inch of flesh is so nice to touch, Gladio wants to peel up his shirt and see what’s underneath. 

With Gladio’s broad hands on him, gripping him firmly at his ribcage and his hip, Noctis finds himself crawling into Gladio’s lap.

Noctis on top of him shakes Gladio into awareness, as much as he wants to press up into the heat around him. Gladio knows they are moving too quickly. Steeling himself, he carefully pushes Noctis away.

The hands go rigid against him and Noctis is being lifted against his will. Gladio heaves him back onto the seat of the Regalia, his hands still wrapped around him but his arms locked, keeping Noctis away.

“Why now?” Gladio demands.

“Gladio,” Noctis says, his name a plea.

“Stop jerkin’ me around, Noct!” Gladio says too loudly, but his patience is wearing thin. He squeezes Noctis in his grip, not letting him move an inch even as the smaller man tries. He lowers his voice to make sure their friends don’t come out to investigate the noise. “It’s my job as your shield to take care of you. It’s my duty as your friend to make sure you’re not martyring yourself.”

Noctis feels guilty. Gladio is also suffering through an incredibly painful day and he regrets the fact that he's only making it more complicated for him. He looks down at Gladio’s hands, where they're still holding on to him, firm and non-negotiable, pinning him to his seat. He likes the way they look on him, huge and pale against his black clothes. 

“I just,” he starts. And then after a pause, “I just want to.”

Gladio resists a sigh. At least Noctis is speaking to him. He releases the tension on Noctis and just holds him, his thumb retracing its pattern on his hip to coax out the words. 

“For how long have you wanted to?” Gladio asks, mirroring the vague tone.

“Since we left--” he stops himself from saying the word _home_. “Probably longer. I just hadn't really… realized it.”

Gladio’s expression softens. He is relieved to find that Noctis is not just acting on impulse. He pieces together what he is pretty certain is a sparse sexual history under the watchful eyes of the kingdom. Noctis has not had the time or the space to experiment, which Gladio can recognize in himself, since his duty keeps him from keeping long relationships instead resigning him to quick meaningless hookups. Their roles in the throne of Lucis are more important than their earthly desires.

This is a sexual awakening for Noctis, and Gladio feels a swell of unbidden pride that it’s happening with _him_.

“What was up with dinner yesterday? You were making those pretty eyes at me all night.” He doesn’t say, _Ignis is catching on._

Noctis’ eyes widen and his mouth falls open in shock.

Does Gladio think he's _pretty_? The thought gives him goosebumps.

He struggles to find the words to answer him. The way Gladio asks the question makes everything feel so much more concrete. Putting his feelings into speakable words means he has to abandon the abstract nonchalance that has been carrying him through these experiments. 

He sighs, swallowing his pride.

“I just wanted to... flirt. I wanted to see what you'd do.”

“You know what I wanted to do,” Gladio says, eyebrows raised and smirking. “I definitely didn’t want you to pass out before I could get my hands on you.”

Noctis manages to bite back a smile at Gladio’s expression, but he cannot stop the hardening in his pants at Gladio’s words. _Okay_ , he thinks, _maybe talking isn't so bad._  

His cheeks burn and Noctis knows he should say something, but he can't stop turning over in his head the simple fact that it had worked. He flirted with Gladio and it made Gladio want to-- no, not just _want…_ his words insinuated more. Gladio was _planning_ to touch him, if Noctis allowed it. He has to reposition himself, his dick rapidly requiring more room. It causes Gladio’s hands to fall away from him where they had still been making contact, killing the flow of electricity that had been pulsing back and forth between them.

 _Could I have him now?_ he wonders. _If I allow it?_

Noctis can feel himself trembling again and he shakes his head to himself, embarrassed by the response. 

Gladio touches the pale flush of his cheeks that he can see through the darkness, trying to wipe away the embarrassment. “I liked it. You scared the shit outta me, but I still wanted to get you alone.”

He leans his cheek into the brush of Gladio’s fingers, looking at him from under his bangs.

“What were you afraid of?” he asks.

“You,” Gladio tells him simply. He can hear the reverence in his own voice when he speaks, “You’ve got a lot of power over me and you wield it well.” 

Noctis still looks sheepish, so Gladio kisses him, his new favorite remedy. It’s a simple kiss, but he feels Noctis melt into it. Gladio wants to melt, too. He grabs Noctis’ hips again and easily pulls him to him and he doesn’t stop Noctis when the younger man surrounds him, pinning Gladio against the Regalia seat. 

Noctis is pliant under Gladio’s lips. Gladio has told him he's powerful before, but this is different. A different kind of power. Noctis straddles him, wielding it-- that power. Noctis breaks the kiss and looks down at him, Gladio’s hands on his hips, fingertips caught in his shirt, just the tease of skin on skin. Noct’s hands are flat on the headrest behind him, surrounding Gladio and keeping him right where he is. Gladio looks reverent as he stares up at him.

Their hips are hot where they press together and it makes Gladio a little dizzy. Privately, he can’t believe he managed to put up a wall around himself to keep himself from fantasizing about Noctis for so long, maybe it’s because Noctis was a child when they met and it took until they were out in the wilderness to see the tantalizing man he has become. 

But Gladio has always bent to Noctis’ will where he could.

Gladio kisses him again and draws him over him like Noctis is the taller one for once. When he pulls back, his eyes roam over Noctis’ face, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You think I can resist you when you look at me like you do?”

Noctis is so hard it hurts, and sitting in Gladio’s lap is making him feel something else entirely, like a yawning void inside of him, longing for _more, more, more._

Gladio cusses and his cock jumps. He has to breathe through his mouth. It amazes Noctis, that just Gladio’s words can cause heart to pound and his skin to burn. _Pretty, gorgeous._ Noctis is seeing himself through someone else’s eyes for the first time, and it _does_ make him feel powerful.  

He decides to try it.

“I liked watching you work out on the beach,” Noctis tells him. 

Upon seeing Gladio’s fond expression, he decides to tell him the whole truth. “Actually, watching you work out was when I, uh, figured it out.”

“Figured it out,” Gladio repeats. Gladio’s hands slide from Noctis’ narrow hips to the small of his back under his shirt. Already, he feels like he has favorite places to touch him, patches of skin that call out to him in yearning. He skims his fingers down to the waist of Noctis’ pants and traces the line of skin along the edge.

“That’s when you figured out what? That you wanted to flirt with me? You don’t waste any time. I thought I was delusional when I saw the way you were watching me work out.” 

“No, I mean, that I'm... attracted to… men. Or, _you_ , at least.”  

Gladio’s hands are mapping him out beneath his shirt and it makes Noctis’ mouth fall open, his eyes flutter shut. The darkness makes the next words easier to say.

“I didn't decide to flirt with you at dinner until later, when I was touching myself in the shower.”

Gladio’s cock twitches in his pants. He squeezes Noctis’ hips to him. Now isn’t the time to tell him he was doing the same.

“You never thought about men before?” Gladio asks, mildly surprised. He had never assumed Noctis was gay like him, but after Noctis kissed him, he had to figure Noctis at least considered men in the past. “You think you can handle me? I’m a lot of man.”

Noctis’ eyes snap open at Gladio’s question. They flit erratically over Gladio’s body beneath him, from his inky biceps to his calloused hands, from his broad chest to lower, past his navel. Noctis looks down at Gladio’s crotch, but the car is too dark or his pants are too thick and Noctis cannot see what he wants to see so his eyes dart back up to Gladio’s face, where his lips curve into a cocky smile. 

Gladio grips him hard, holding Noct’s small frame steady as he rolls his hips up into him, and Noctis cannot see it, but he can _feel_ it. His mouth falls open with a gasp.  

Gladio wears a sly smile on his face but his eyes are watchful for any sign of hesitation from Noctis. He doesn’t find that sign, all he sees is open want and blown out pupils. One of Gladio’s hands travels to the front of Noctis’ pants and lays over his clothed cock. He can feel how hard he is. Gladio cannot believe he is alone in the woods with Noctis in his lap. He greedily wants to keep him here.

Gladio tugs at the fastening of Noctis’ pants. He watches his face because he cannot get over that this is happening and that Noctis wants him like this. Even as he unzips him, he says in warning, “I’m gonna touch you.”

With Gladio’s hand laying over his arousal, Noctis cannot speak, but he manages to nod. Involuntarily, he finds himself pushing his hardness into Gladio’s hand. Noctis is trembling again and he is certain Gladio must be able to feel it.

Shakily, he lowers his hands from the backseat and they land in Gladio’s hair. By the time he’s laced weak fingers through Gladio’s long hair, the pressure has been released from his cock. Looking down at himself, he sees his hard flesh pressing up against his boxers, spilling out of his open fly.

Gladio reaches into Noctis’ boxers and grips his cock. 

When Gladio’s hand finally touches his bare skin, Noctis feels something so potent inside of him for a moment he thinks he may spill fire unbidden, scorching the interior of the Regalia. Gladio is watching him intently, but Noctis’ eyes are glued on where his wrist disappears beneath his clothes. He reaches down and clumsily yanks at his boxers until he manages to free himself.

Noctis is radiating signs that he loves the way Gladio is touching him, and it spurs him on. He strokes him slowly, squeezing him at the base and twisting his wrist at the head. Noctis’ narrow hips are twitching into his grip, his cock leaking into Gladio’s fingers. It’s a beautiful sight and Gladio is so grateful that Noctis shoves his pants down so Gladio can see his pretty cock. 

Noctis looks down at himself. He’s harder than he’s ever been, and Gladio’s hand still dwarfs him.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs.

Gladio tears his eyes away from Noctis’ hardness up his body. The tendons in his neck are straining, his lips bitten. Gladio leans forward and grabs his bottom lip in his own. He’s already obsessed with his mouth.

Noctis makes a sound into their kiss and Gladio works him faster, harder.

Noctis cannot look away from Gladio’s experienced hand working over him, but when Gladio leans up to kiss him, he’s forced to close his eyes. He cannot kiss him back. His mouth hangs slack and he pants against Gladio’s lips. Noctis finds himself thrusting into Gladio’s fist, and the hand around him squeezing him while he does. His legs are spread wide over Gladio’s lap there is a dull ache in the muscles of his inner thighs.

Noctis thinks that nothing has _ever_ felt this good.

Gladio doubles his efforts and Noctis’ hands cinch tight in Gladio’s hair. He cums without warning.

Gladio swears when Noctis releases in his hand. He stares up into Noctis’ eyes, watching them fall shut in pleasure. He wants to see him cum, but Noctis’ fingers wound tight in his hair keep him staring at his face as it goes slack.

All it took was a few good strokes and it’s immediately obvious to him that Noctis is even less experienced than he anticipated. Gladio is intrigued. He’s never been with a virgin before and now he is pretty sure that’s what he’s dealing with. Gladio had a wealth of experience to draw from to make Noctis quiver.

Gladio gathers his ejaculation and brings his hand to his mouth to clean it away. Noctis is openly staring at him.

“Looked like you liked that,” he muses quietly, his voice low and gruff with arousal.

Noctis is still catching his breath when Gladio drinks away the remains of his pleasure. _Does that always happen?_ He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to breathe again. His hands remain knotted in Gladio’s hair.

It’s surreal, to give his body over to someone. Someone who can touch him in a way he cannot touch himself, to surprise him with climax. Noctis isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be embarrassed for coming that way, but he’s not. He just wants to do it again. He wants Gladio to keep touching him, teaching him. He wants to give Gladio every orgasm he has. 

Eventually, Noctis does come back to earth. His cock hangs softening between them. He loosens his fingers and drags his hands down the side of Gladio’s face and neck and shoulders. They come to rest on his chest, and Noctis can feel Gladio trying, and failing, to conceal his heavy breathing.

“Yes,” he manages to tell him. _I liked that._

Slowly, Noctis reaches down to tuck himself away and when he’s finished zipping his fly, his hands immediately fall to Gladio in trade. He grabs at the thick outline of hardness through his jeans and Noctis _moans._   
  
Through a dry mouth, Noctis says, “My turn.”

Gladio groans when Noctis eagerly grabs him. Noctis was so easy but he feels easy himself in the moment. Noctis’ small hand holds him through the thick fabric of his pants and Gladio wants to give him whatever he wants.

Gladio quickly opens his own pants and lifts his hips, Noctis’ weight unbelievably light, and shoves his jeans down to give Noctis access to him. Gladio grabs Noctis’ little hand and wraps it around his own cock, standing hard and heavy for the man in his lap, and guides Noctis to stroke him nice and slow, his gaze digging into Noctis.

He lets go of Noctis’ hand to cup his warm, damp neck instead. He watches the changing expressions on his face, enraptured by the awe he is seeing on Noctis’ face.

Gladio guides him to pump his huge cock, and Noctis watches the sight, infatuated, still reeling from Gladio lifting him with his hips like he weighed nothing. Gladio’s cock is rock hard, smooth like leather, the skin pulled taught over the engorged flesh. _And it’s for me,_ Noctis thinks. _Because of me._  

As soon as Gladio lets go of him, Noctis adds a second hand. He palms at him with both hands for a few moments, cupping the heavy head of his cock in one palm, squeezing at the base, where his fingers barely touch around him, with the other.

With a gruff voice Gladio asks, “What do you think?”

A lot of different words come to mind, like _big, beastly,_ and _mine._  

Instead Noctis says, “I’ve never wanted something so badly. I just wanted a chance... before it’s all over.” 

Gladio’s thumb absently strokes over Noctis’ jaw as he watches the hands on his cock. Noctis is doing his damnest to work him double fisted and eager. Gladio loves the enthusiasm.

And then he stops, his cloudy mind clearing.

His hand tightens on the side of Noctis’ neck. 

“What do you mean: before it’s all over?”

Noctis thinks that Gladio doesn’t realize his own strength.  Noctis leans into the unyielding grip. He stares wide-eyed at his Shield.

He squeezes Gladio’s cock in his hands. “Insomnia’s gone. It’s only a matter of time.” 

It takes a minute for the meaning of Noctis’ words to catch up to him. Noctis thinks they are going to die. Gladio has always known his life as a Shield could be taken at any moment, but seeing Noctis’ fear strengthens him. Noctis isn’t supposed to die like Gladio. His death is supposed to be meaningful. His life is supposed to serve the people. Gladio’s heart rate tightens in response. His muscles automatically tense, immediately on high alert. He knows where his sword lies.

If Noctis thinks he’s dying, Gladio needs to defend him.

“The empire is not going to find you,” Gladio says, suddenly serious. “And if they do, they are going to be the ones dying, not you. You hear me? I’ve been trained my whole life to keep you safe.”

Noctis looks at Gladio, his face just inches from his own, his amber eyes rimmed white with alarm. The scar on the left side of his face bisects him hairline to jaw. He has to look away. Noctis _knows_ Gladio is intended to keep him from dying. So many lives have been. So many deaths in his name.

Noctis’ hands go loose on Gladio, but he does not let go.

“Noctis is dead,” he says. “This is all a dream.”

Gladio grabs Noctis’ face in his hands, trying to reach into his sorrow-filled blue eyes with his determination and loyalty. “Your life has new purpose. You are not dead, Noct. You’re alive. You’re here with me right now." 

When Gladio takes his face in his hands, it gives Noctis no choice but to look at him. His eyes trail down Gladio’s eagle-feather arms. The traditional Amicita line tattoo is meant to be a symbol of protection. _What good is a symbol,_ Noctis thinks, _with nothing to protect._

“Gladio,” Noctis says softly, pleadingly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Gladio can see the lost look on the other man’s face and it strengthens him. He wants to fix it. Impulsively, Gladio thinks of staying on the road with him for years, drifting from town to town taking up hunting jobs. It’s a dangerous thought. He shakes it off.

“You’re the rightful King of Lucis, Noct. You were _chosen_ for this. You’re going to take your home back with Ignis, Prompto, and _me_ by your side.”

There are two things Noctis realizes upon Gladio’s words. First, Noctis realizes that Gladio, fiercely determined to uphold his oath to the line of Lucis, was never going to let Noctis take the easy road out of this mess. Gladio will never let apathy rule, never let Noctis bide his time until the assassins come. He is going to have to fight. _They_ are. It is going to be four against hundreds of thousands if they are to reclaim their home.  

The second thing Noctis realizes: “I am… the King.”

Now, he meets Gladio’s eyes. _I'm not ready._  

Gladio can see the anxiety in Noctis’ wide eyes, the fear that spins in the deep blue that stares back at him, grey in the darkness but no less vibrant to Gladio. He strokes his thumb over Noctis’ cheekbone.

“You are the King. You’re the goddamn chosen king and no scumbag militia of rats is going to change that.”

Gladio searches deeper into his eyes, wanting to grab ahold of Noctis’ very core.

“You are so strong, Noct. I’ve seen you make wise and difficult decisions in court as a prince. I’ve seen you diffuse heated arguments without breaking a sweat. I’ve seen you cut down beasts thrice your size in a matter of seconds. I’ve seen you, today, take control and lead three people who would gladly lay down their lives for you if you just say the word, who genuinely think the sun shines out of your skinny ass even when you’re at your worst. That includes me too. I’ve always been dedicated to you, but the person I’ve seen on the road is one I’m gladly honored to serve to my death.”

With unmatched fierceness, Gladio declares, “You’re _my King_. I will slaughter entire armies for you.”

Noctis looks down at his Shield, his eyes wide with awe. His hands are still wrapped around him like the hilt of the sword. He sits on his lap like a throne. He grips Gladio tight. He still feels like death is coming, but his Shield is full of screaming devotion and he promises: _Not. Yet._

And then with a desperate need from deep inside, Noctis realizes a third thing.

“I want you inside me.”

Gladio’s immediate reaction is to huff out a solitary laugh, “Have you seen me, Noct? It’s gonna hurt.”

But Noctis’ face is all seriousness. Gladio finds in Noctis’ eyes a budding strength he has never before seen in him. He sees the potential of someone who could inspire fealty in even the nonbelievers. He sees the start of a king before him. Gladio will do anything his King asks of him.

He is still hard in Noctis’ firm grasp. 

“With honor, Majesty.” 

Noctis laughs once. It is a sound full of disbelief and lust. Reluctantly, he releases Gladio and shaking, he slides his body back to the seat of the Regalia. 

His pants are still undone and he didn't lace his boots when the left the tent, so after only a brief moment of hesitation, Noctis shucks the layers off the lower half of his body.

Gladio cannot help the smile that stretches across his face as he watches Noctis fumble off him to remove his pants. The other man looks so eager, so ready. Gladio feels the same way. He shoves down own pants down passed his knees.

In just his t-shirt, Noctis mounts Gladio again. His cock, half-hard, nestles against Gladio’s entirely eager flesh. It makes Noctis blush, a strangled sound falling from his mouth unbidden.

Gladio meets Noctis’ hips with his hands, helping guide him back into his lap. When Noctis sits in his lap, the heat of their naked thighs together makes Gladio’s heart clench. This is where Noctis belongs. He takes both in them in one hand and strokes them together. It makes his own cock jump in response. He is so much bigger than Noctis in every sense.

“Okay,” Noctis says, his voice thin. “What's next?”

Gladio knows he needs to take control to ease his King’s mind. “Relax for me, darling.”

The hand on Noctis’ hip trails back so his fingers slide through the crevice of his ass.

A finger stops at his opening and he rubs over the puckered skin he finds, delighting in the way it flutters at his touch. Noctis feels so small. 

When a single fingertip lay over his entrance, his entire body clenches, his thighs clamping around Gladio’s beneath him. Noctis has never felt so awake. It's too much. He tips forward and lays his head on Gladio’s shoulder, shutting his eyes. It's all so unfamiliar, the unexpected touches, the low grumble of this special voice Gladio is using with him, the affectionate nicknames. Noctis has known Gladio for so many years, but never could he anticipated the way his heart would race when he calls him _darling._  

He does not move when Gladio’s hand falls away from him, but he opens his eyes when he hears the wet sound of Gladio’s mouth. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I gotta make sure you’re nice and slick and open for me,” Gladio tells him, his thick fingers hovering in front of his thick bottom lip.

Noctis sits up straight, looking at him. He reaches forward and takes Gladio’s massive paw in both of his hands. 

“I wanna do it,” he says. 

Gladio squeezes his grip on their cocks when Noctis takes his fingers in his mouth. He’s hot and wet on the inside and Gladio distantly wishes they had the time and the space for Gladio to take his time exploring every part of Noctis. Another time. He presses his fingers down on Noctis’ tongue.  

“Get ‘em wet for me,” He encourages in a gruff voice. “You’ve seen how big I am, I don’t wanna to hurt you.”

He can feel Noctis’ dick twitching against his own. Gladio smirks, watching his fingers disappear into Noctis’ mouth. “You like that I’m bigger than you?”

Exactly a foot taller than Noctis, his bodyguard is massive in comparison to the King’s slight frame. Gladio’s thighs, broad and relaxed on the seat of the Regalia, force Noct to spread his legs wide, and that emptiness inside of him grows, longing to be filled. He thinks it might hurt, but he wants _all_ of him anyway. His words bring Noctis to full hardness again, but Gladio’s cock is still twice his size. His long fingers, reaching all the way into his throat makes Noctis gag, but he doesn't mind, Gladio’s other hand, spread out on his side covers him from ribcage to hip bone. Noctis’ small hands knot into the fabric of Gladio’s tank top and press against his wall-like chest. Gladio _is_ big. _So big_. The longer Noctis touches him, he thinks it might be the thing he likes the most.

Noctis cannot speak around the thick digits on his tongue, so he nods instead, a little saliva dribbling down his chin where the weight of Gladio’s fingers pull his lips. He thinks about the way Gladio looked at him when Prompto said the words _sloppy mess_ at dinner the night before. Gladio had looked cautiously smug then. He doesn't look like that now. Now, Gladio looks _hungry._ Locking eyes with that expression makes Noctis moan. He swings his hips into Gladio's touch, rubbing his cock against Gladio’s own and the huge hand that encompasses them both.

 _How quickly things change._  

Gladio loses his breath when Noctis fucks into his grip. The other man is quickly losing composure and Gladio is eating it up. He pushes his fingers back into his throat one more time before ripping them from his mouth and rushing them back to his ass. 

Gladio lays one fingertip against his entrance. Carefully watching Noctis’ face, Gladio breaches him slowly, all the way to the palm of his hand.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The sensation of Gladio’s finger inside of him is odd, but not at all unpleasant. Noctis breathes deeply, adjusting to it. He lowers a hand to where Gladio still holds their erections in his fist. Noctis wraps a hand around the head of Gladio’s cock; he just wants to gauge the size.

When Gladio pulls the finger slowly out before pressing it back in, Noct’s gets chills. He lets out a fast breath and collapses forward once more. He lays his forehead on Gladio’s shoulders and clenches his eyes shut.

“It's not enough,” he whispers to Gladio, gently squeezing the head of his cock in his palm.

“What, are you measuring me?” Gladio huffs out a breathless laugh. “It's gonna be more than enough soon, I promise.”

He teases a second finger over him, just barely pressing in before pulling out entirely and circling his entrance to make Noctis squirm before pushing both fingers in to the hilt. Noctis is unbelievably tight around his fingers, and the hands squeezing his cock are only a weak imitation of what the other man will feel like around him.

Gladio has never taken his time like this with another person, never sat a man in his lap and fingered him open slowly, never had a beautiful face to carefully watch. His experiences have been rushed and quick, no pause for consideration, no treating his partner like the damn King he is. Every handjob, blowjob, fuck was a means to a fast orgasm, but Gladio could spent the entire night heating up the backseat of the Regalia with Noctis. He hopes the windows are steamy by the time they’re done, just like in his novels. 

Gladio cranes his neck to kiss Noctis as he curls his fingers inside him, seeking the reactions that Noctis gives so willingly: squirming, shaking, gasping. Every movement is a chain reaction, making Gladio impossibly harder.

Noctis can’t do much but cling to Gladio as he works his body open. He is on his knees on the backseat, straddling Gladio as his fingers prod around inside of him. It still feels weird, but it’s also starting to feel good in a way Noctis couldn’t have expected. Occasionally Gladio’s fingers brush against something deep inside of him, sending sparks of electricity into his fingers and down through his toes. The sensation is fleeting, and it never lasts long enough. 

Noctis is quickly discovering that he’s noisier than he expected to be. At first he’s a little shy, trying to swallow the sounds before they reach the interior of the car, but it gets harder to stop them. When Gladio’s fingers find that spot again, Noctis gasps, the sound dissolving into a soft whine as the sensation fades. He does not miss Gladio’s hand gripping hard at his hip in response.

Curious, he looks down at his bodyguard, opens his mouth and pants like a dog. Gladio’s pupils blown wide. The fingers inside of him press upwards urgent and deep and Noctis arches his back in response, throwing his head back and letting a moan tumble from his lips. The fingers on his hip are holding him onto the pleasure, brutal and unyielding. Noctis smiles up at the low ceiling of the car. He hopes they bruise. 

He can feel his muscles relaxing around Gladio’s hand, but he’s stroking his cock in earnest now and Noctis still can’t imagine the rod fitting inside of him. He looks down at Gladio’s cock, dwarfing his hand. Noctis pets him from head to hilt, letting Gladio kiss him until he suddenly withdraws from him and Noctis is left empty and feeling abandoned.

He’s about to complain when Gladio’s hand hovers between their faces, three thick fingers held up like a pledge. Gladio says, “Three fingers.”

Noctis takes them into his mouth.

His first reaction is disgust and he has to resist the urge to spit his fingers back out. They taste dirty, and Noctis is shocked with himself for not hesitating in the first place. Ignis can’t even get him to eat vegetables and Gladio managed to put his soiled fingers right on his royal tongue. The thought makes Noctis excited in another way. He wets Gladio’s fingers but he looks past him, out the back window of the Regalia. Just twenty feet away their tent is a grey block between the black trees.

Gladio is surprised that Noctis took the offered fingers, thrilled that the other man sucked them into his mouth without pause. It’s filthy, and Gladio grins in awed appreciation. He dips his head to kiss the long line of Noctis’ throat, thrusting up into the hands that grasp him. 

When his fingers feel good and wet, he slips them out of Noctis’ mouth, savoring the pop of his lips as the other man tries to keep the digits inside. His grips one cheek of Noctis’ soft ass and pulls him open as he pushes three fingers slowly inside him. Noctis’ entire body rolls into the sensation. 

“Ha, I can tell how much you’re enjoying this,” Gladio tells him, but he feels like he’s talking to himself.

Noctis is so tight around his three fingers, he feels like he has miles to go before Noctis will be ready for his cock, so he gets to work.

“Relax. You gotta let me in,” he whispers against Noctis’ neck, craned up toward his ear.

Noctis shudders and Gladio presses his knuckles into him and spreads his fingers. His lays his lips against the side of the pale throat, feeling him breathe heavily as he adjusts. 

“I’m a lot thicker than my fingers.”

He evenly thrusts his fingers into Noctis’ little ass, a minor preview for the next act. Noctis is not shying away, rocking back onto him and making little sounds that Gladio wishes he could swallow whole. He can feel the other man loosening around him as the pleasure starts to build. 

Gladio is kissing at his neck and Noctis brings a hand to the back of his head to hold him there. His fingers are weak and shaky in Gladio's hair. With Gladio’s head tucked beneath his chin, Noctis is able to stare out the windows of the car at the dark forest around them.

Three fingers burn, but it doesn't bother Noctis. Noctis has singed himself enough times with his own magic, it's refreshing to feel someone else's burn.

Noctis can feel his ass loosening around Gladio’s hand and he tries to follow his instruction to stay relaxed. He wants this step to be over with. The thickness of three fingers keeps them shallow, and Noctis wants to feel that sensation he had felt with two fingers, where they could press deeper, brush against that place that holds the promise of making him forget.

Finally, Noctis says, “Hurry up.”

Gladio smiles against Noctis’ warm, perspiring neck. He adores this man. He wants to sink his teeth in him but he knows he can’t leave a mark.

“Yes, sir.” 

Gladio withdraws his fingers and spits generously in the palm of his hand before stroking himself. Noctis makes a noise in his throat.

“Sorry, Your Highness. Sex isn’t pretty.”

When Gladio sits back to wet his cock, Noctis perches on his thighs and watches him hungrily. He is relieved to pull his attention away from the world outside. He looks at the brutish man beneath him, his purple cock veiny and straining. He’s been patient. He doesn’t have to be patient anymore, and Noctis is ready to let Gladio block out the rest of the world.

Gladio spits in his hand again and grins up at Noctis, prouder of his own appearance than he’s ever felt before. The way Noctis looks at him is incentive for Gladio to vigorously work out every day. He holds the base of his throbbing, slick cock. “You ready?" 

“You think _I’m_ pretty,” Noctis tells him. “And yes, I’m ready.”

Gladio laughs. “Hell yeah, I think you’re pretty. You’re the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.”

“C’mere, gorgeous,” Gladio says as he wraps an arm around Noctis’ waist and pulls him close. Again, he grips his ass and spreads him open while his other hand guides his cock to bump against Noctis’ entrance. Gladio takes a deep breath.

There is a brief moment of panic from Noctis when he’s positioned with Gladio beneath him, prepared to enter. He doesn’t have the chance to tell Gladio to _stop stop;_ Gladio grabs him by the hips and pulls Noctis down to him, sheathing himself deeper and deeper as Noctis opens to him. The pain is more than he anticipated, but what really surprises Noctis is that all of Gladio fits. He keeps expecting to hit resistance somewhere, a wall, but Gladio slowly slides into him until they are one.  

Gladio forgets he is holding oxygen in his lungs until Noctis is fully seated, gripping him like a vice, hot and velvet inside. He cannot believe their bodies can fit together, it feels almost impossible, like he could burst at any moment. Gladio could lose himself here, deep inside of Noctis.

Noctis is clinging to him and Gladio’s hands hold onto his back, keeping him grounded.

Noctis is quaking, deep tremors that rock him in Gladio’s lap, causing pain to shoot up his spine. He hisses. He folds in on himself, laying his forehead on Gladio’s shoulder and grunting in pain.

Still, now that he has him, Noctis doesn’t want it to stop.

Gladio cradles Noctis to him, their chests hot and damp together even through the layers of their clothes. He lets Noctis breathe. Every part of them that touches feels sweaty, Noctis’ ass is slick on his hips. His hands can’t find a solid purchase on his hot skin.

Gladio turns his face into the damp hair that clings to Noctis’ neck and murmurs encouragement, “You’re doing so great, Noct. I’ve got you. You feel so good. _I’ve got you_.”

The sounds of discomfort coming from Noctis spark Gladio’s protector instinct. He needs to fix it. He grabs Noctis’ shoulders and pulls him away, rolling his shoulders back behind his ears until Noctis is sitting up straight in his lap. 

All those years of Gladio correcting his posture and _finally_ Noctis thinks, _it’s good for something._ The pain ebbs. It returns like the sea, but each wave hurts slightly less.  

Intent on keeping his shoulders back, Noctis regretfully lets go of Gladio and moves his hands behind his back. He rests his palms on Gladio’s thighs and presses into him, his back straight. Gladio’s eyes go wide as Noctis leans back and out of his grip, his fingertips trailing behind along his biceps. Noctis loves the way he’s looking at him. _Power_.

With Noctis sitting up, Gladio can sweep his eyes over him, truly take in the person he is buried deep inside. This is Noctis, his charge, his _King_. Gladio can feel his own heart beating in his chest. He had never seriously considered being with Noctis beyond the line of duty and brotherhood, but now that he is here he feels like it’s been a storm brewing in him for years, waiting to peer over the horizon and now finally crashing waves on his shore.  

Noctis knows Gladio can’t help it when he reaches slightly with his hips, jostling Noctis in his lap but Noctis yelps anyway. However, an instant later, the burst of pain transforms into an explosion of pleasure that ripples across Noctis’ entire body. A small adjustment and Gladio is reaching something meant only for him. The pain acts only as an interesting layer to a bodily pleasure so intense that Noctis could have never, ever guessed it were hiding inside of him.

He moans, lifting his face to Gladio’s.

The pleasure pools, hot and urgent in his gut. Gladio is looking at him like he’s looking through a dream, frozen with his hands on Noctis’ thighs and his mouth hanging open.

“Touch me,” he orders. It comes out barely a whisper.

Waking hazily from the daydream of staring at Noctis, Gladio cups a hand over his flushed cock standing eagerly between them. He’s leaking over Gladio’s fingers and Gladio can tell Noctis won’t last long, his inexperience laid bare for Gladio to see. He doesn't have to ask him if he’d done this before. He knows. Gladio rubs his palm up and down the underside of Noctis’ cock, watching Noctis’ hips rock so slightly into the touch, but not too much lest he hurt himself.

“You look so pretty in my lap, Noct, like you were meant to be here, my strong King.”

The hand he keeps on Noctis’ leg trails up and down his lean thigh, feeling the muscles he has worked to craft tense to hold him up on Gladio’s thick thighs, trembling with the effort and arousal. There is a quiet strength to Noctis’ body that Gladio both adores as is and wants to sculpt further. Unbidden, he imagines waking Noctis up with him at dawn every morning to go for a run, Noctis becoming a fixed part of Gladio’s only real private time. He pushes the thought away to keep himself in the moment. 

“Looks like you’re gonna come again. I wanna see it. Show me how you come for me, baby.” 

The way Gladio’s hands pet at his cock and thigh have Noctis so close already that when Gladio calls him _baby_ Noctis gasps, tumbling over the edge.  

His eyes fall shut while he rides the waves of his orgasm, and he sighs, long and low as he empties himself into Gladio’s hand. He feels boneless and weak, and he slumps forward. This time, there is no pain.

He opens his eyes in time to watch Gladio lick the remains from his fingers thoroughly, certain to get every drop of pleasure from where Noctis had spilled on him. 

And then Gladio’s hands are on his torso, lifting and repositioning him and Noctis lets his body be pliant, although he does mourn a little more with every inch of Gladio that leaves him. Nothing or no one had ever made Noctis feel so worshipped than Gladio's cock did pressing against that secret place deep inside of him.

Gladio stops when Noctis’ opening swallows just the head of his cock. Noctis looks down at him, and smiles softly when he sees Gladio’s hand wrap around the rest. Noctis tightens on him and is pleased when Gladio grunts in response.

“Talk to me,” he says.

Gladio tips Noctis back so he can lean against the back of the passenger seat, one hand bracing the King by his thigh and the other wrapped around himself. He’s been so hard for so long that his touch feels like overstimulation. Gladio has never had sex for this long, never took his time with another person, never spent so long making his partner come that he was too sensitive to even his own familiar hand. He looks up at Noctis with a rush of awe and want.

“I’ve never felt like this before, Noct. I don’t have words for it.”

“Try,” Noctis says, the cruelest word Gladio has ever heard.

Gladio gasps. He touches himself the only way he can handle right now, a slow, jerky stroke from root to Noctis’ entrance still holding him tight. 

“I’m the luckiest goddamn man to touch you like this.”

Gladio knows he’s shaking. He squeezes the bony hip in his hand hard, probably too hard but Noctis is not complaining. 

“You’re so worthy of worship,” He growls, “entire nations should fall to their knees for you.” 

At Noctis’ request, Gladio is very good. He keeps talking even when it obviously becomes difficult to do so. His obedience is awe-inspiring and it reminds Noctis that it will never fail him. He says such lovely things.

Noctis’ hand lands on the Gladio’s shaved temples. His fingertips are cool to Gladio’s burning skin, he leans into the touch and stares up at Noctis as he grips his cock harder. 

Gladio has to stop stroking himself for a moment, his hips are trying to knock up inside the heat enveloping the head of his cock and he cannot allow that. He keep his hips planted firmly on the seat, his entire body tense with the effort of restraining himself. His calves are twitching, knees bouncing from the way they’ve braced Noctis all night, now transformed into struggling to hold himself back from thrusting up. He is panting.

Noctis’ beautiful face glows with awe and power. Gladio wants to let go for him. He pumps his cock again, grunting when his fist bumps Noctis’ ass.

Noctis’ small hand slides down the thick column of his neck to lay over the mouth of the eagle on his chest, a symbol of Gladio’s screaming fealty. His heart beats up to meet Noctis’ hand.

Watching Gladio unravel beneath him is an experience like no other. The sound of his heavy breathing is like a current, making Noctis buzz with energy. He thinks that had he not been drained so thoroughly, the sound of Gladio’s pleasure would make him hard again. Noctis’ hands swipe from his hair down to his chest, feeling him heave and his heart hammer. _I did this,_ he thinks with satisfaction. _I'm making his happen._ Gladio’s entire body is rigid and trembling with effort, his muscles bulging through glistening skin, much like he was after his workout on the beach, when Noctis first realized he wanted to be touched by him. Gladio is drenched in sweat. They both are. The windows of the Regalia have fogged up, and Noctis can no longer see out.  

“I’m yours, _I’m yours_.”

 _I’m yours,_ Noctis repeats back to him, but he doesn't realize he hasn't said it aloud.

Gladio’s thighs twitch from the build up, his entire body feeling tight as he strokes himself into Noctis, the pleasure mounting. All of the sudden, his orgasm is within reach. He groans and peels his back off of the leather seat, sitting up straighter and locking their eyes. “Gonna come for you.”

Noctis smirks at him, letting his stretched ass swallow a few more inches of Gladio’s cock. He wants to feel his cum splash against the raw and damaged walls inside of him.

“What are you waiting for?”

Opposite of what Gladio expects, he sees the powerful King become illuminated within Noctis and radiating out over him. Noctis takes in more of him: a challenge, an invitation. Gladio gasps and works his hand faster, urging himself to completion. He lives in service of his King. 

It hits him like a train, blinding Gladio as he releases an undignified, feral shout and comes inside Noctis. His orgasm stretches on and on, the tension leaving his body as he finally allows himself to jerk his hips up and ride out the prolonged explosion. 

When he’s finally finished, he feels weaker and more satisfied than he does after a long workout.

Gladio’s shaking arms gather Noctis and pull him off and seat him on his pelvis. He pants up at Noctis. “You okay?”

The Shield's orgasm is an impressive thing, and Noctis feels breathless in its wake. He nods when Gladio asks him if he's alright. He's fine, but he feels battered and drained, and Noctis is ready for bed. 

Gladio’s thick fingers reach around Noctis, seeking out his swollen and tender entrance. He’s soaking wet with come, loose from Gladio’s cock, and Gladio wishes they had more time and space so he could clean him out properly. Instead, he presses his fingers inside to feel him, pulling out and wiping his hands on his thigh.

He can't help but whine when Gladio reaches inside of his wet entrance with two fingers, feeling around like he's appreciating his work. Noctis leans forward to give him access, pressing his soft cock against Gladio’s still firm flesh.

In the clarity of the afterglow, the spell is broken and Noctis is suddenly aware of what they've done. Noctis knows they need to get the hell out of the car. They've been gone a long time, and if Prompto and Ignis wake up for any reason and find them _and_ the Regalia keys missing, they would come directly here. The windows are too foggy to even see them approaching.

He looks down at his Shield, who looks more tired than Noctis has ever seen him. His hands fall away from Gladio’s damp chest. He dismounts.

They dress themselves sitting in their respective seats on opposite sides of the car.

For Gladio, cold reality seeps in once Noctis is off his lap and redressing in his usual seat in the Regalia. The sweat on his body is sticky as it dries, and chills him to his bones. He pulls his pants up over his shaking thighs and learns that redressing feels like admitting to a mistake he couldn’t help but make.

He sneaks a few glances at Noctis while they pull themselves together, but the other man does not meet his eyes.

Neither of them exchange words on the way back to the tent, but Gladio keeps a strong hand on the small of Noct’s back and when Noctis reaches for it, Gladio lets him carry his sword. 

They are as quiet as the dead as they peel the back the tent flaps. Ignis and Prompto are undisturbed.

Gladio lowers himself down in his spot and Noctis lay in his. They're only inches apart, but back in the tent, back in reality, it feels like so much more. Noctis cannot relax, his mind racing from subject to subject.

 _Sovereignty_. _Virginity. Duty. Lust._

On Gladio’s side of the silent tent, Gladio looks over his friends. Ignis and Prompto are fast asleep. Gladio distantly cannot believe they didn’t get caught, but the evidence that their encounter remained a secret is clear, Ignis’ diligence and Prompto’s anxiety would send them searching.

The strangest sight lies beside him: Noctis, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, seemingly not tired at all.

Moving slowly as to not rustle the others awake, Gladio holds his arm out to Noctis and the other man quickly catches on and scoots over to him. Gladio rolls onto his back, pulling Noctis to him so his cheek rests on Gladio’s chest. He wraps a thick arm around his shoulders, keeping his King close.

Warm, and soft, and sturdy, Gladio is so comfortable it blocks out everything else in Noctis’ head. Noctis is asleep in moments.

Of all the new experiences tonight, lying together seems the most foreign. Gladio has never cuddled with anyone, never had a partner before. Sex in the past was always quick with no relationships attached. He does not yet know what to make of this encounter with Noctis and part of him can’t help but feel like he’s cheapened their sworn bond the same way he’s cheapened some of his friendships within the kingsglaive. 

Gladio listens to the breathing in the tent to calm himself. Ignis is asleep. Prompto is asleep and snoring lightly. Noctis is newly asleep in his arms. Selfishly, Gladio keeps Noctis tucked in his arms until he feels himself growing tired. He wraps the other man into his sleeping bag and rolls onto his side to watch over his companions.

What feels like hours slide by and yet sleep does not come to Gladio. He is sick of the thoughts turning over in his head that sink like rocks in his belly. He climbs carefully out of the tent and takes his sword and flashlight to the Regalia.

He stands beside the Regalia for a while. The fogged windows he was silently proud of have faded to hide the evidence. He peers into the vehicle and finds nothing amiss, no clothes left behind or fluids crusting the black leather interior. The car looks pristine, normal, like Gladio and Noctis hadn’t bridged the gap between them to indulge in each other.

Gladio doesn’t know what to make of any of it. He lays a hand on the slick black of the vehicle. It looks unchanged. He wonders if everything will look unchanged tomorrow too, or if their world will be different. Gladio promises himself that his feelings and what transpired will strengthen his duty, not weaken it. He wonders what Noctis will say to him in the morning.


	6. Alpha Shallows

_And his heart was full of fire at the man he had become_  
_And his soul was seldom higher with the falsities of fun_  
_He could embrace sweet desire as in moments as they pass_  
_But he feared it ever more, when he saw it didn't last_

-Laura Marling, "Alpha Shallows"

 

Noctis wakes up to a gentle slap to the face.

He groans and props himself up on one elbow, staring into Ignis’ face where the other man crouches in front of him.

“Iggy…” he grumbles.

“It's the only thing that for certain works,” Ignis shrugs, standing up and exiting the tent as he says, “The stove awaits, Your Highness.”

Noctis shakes his hair out and sighs. He casts a jealous look in the direction of Prompto where he lay undisturbed. He considers laying back down, but he just knows Ignis will come in and slap him again. When Iggy makes a decision, there is no convincing him otherwise.

As Noctis rises, he looks over at Gladio’s empty spot in the tent. If it weren't for the considerable amount of pain he's in, Noctis would think last night a dream. He stands and is unable to keep from making a face when he feels himself spill wetness into his boxers.

What the fuck has he done.

Noctis takes a deep breath and steels himself. Gingerly, he steps out of the tent.

Ignis is standing at the table opening a can of beans. Noctis moves slowly towards him. Every step is more unpleasant than the one before. His ass burns, and his boxers cling to him in a vile way. He stops in front of Ignis and is handed a cup of coffee. He sets it down, finding he doesn’t really have an appetite, even for that.

It’s not that he doesn’t see Gladio staring at him from across the haven, it’s just that Noctis is afraid if he looks directly at him, he won’t be able to look away, and Ignis is watching him like a hawk. In the wake of last night, Noctis knows he needs to be casual about this. He and Gladio didn’t talk about what their friends might say. Best to act normal. Noctis takes a deep breath and turns to face him.

“Hey,” he says.

“Sup.”

Noctis’ eyes flit over Gladio for a heartbeat before Ignis shoves a wooden spoon into Noct’s hands.

“Stir.”

He approaches the pot of chili Ignis has started and does as his companion instructs.

Ignis makes idle talk while Noctis stirs. Noctis does his best to upkeep conversation but he knows his answers are a little terse, detached. He is incredibly uncomfortable, and clenching to stop the slow seeping of wetness only triggers the pain.

He considers telling Ignis he isn’t well, and dismissing himself to get cleaned up, but Ignis is _already_ watching him like he isn’t well, and Noctis is concerned. When he glances Iggy’s way and sees the trouble behind his steely blue eyes, he has to look away. He knows what's happening. Ignis is worried and so he’s trying to put order somewhere where he sees disorder. And he sees disorder in Noctis all the time. Making Noctis cook is some sort of strategy in a plan Ignis has developed in his grief.

Prompto is his best friend. Gladio is his… _something_. But Ignis is his brother. They don’t always see eye to specs, but Ignis has been there with him since the beginning. He is a genius, but he isn’t flexible, and while he had to know this day was coming for all of those who pledged their lives to Noctis, Ignis had no way of being prepared for how complicated it was going to be. Noctis’ heart clenches to feel Ignis rattled, even though it irritates Noctis that it’s manifesting as concern for _him_.

“Have you been sleeping alright?”

“Yep,” Noctis answers through a yawn.

“So no new visions?”

“ _Visions_.” Noctis repeats to the chili. “Why would you use that word?”

“Nightmares. My apologies. The future is uncertain.”

Noctis turns around to face him. Ignis is still studying him. If it is far too much direct attention and it makes Noctis’ skin crawl. Ignis is looking for something, some sort of data he can use.

Noctis does not know what Ignis might find looking at him, but Ignis has the keen ability to see what Noctis cannot, see deeper than most people can. The soft thinking lines that appear in his forehead when Ignis is analysing something always make Noctis feel stripped, he does not know how to put his guard up against them. Yesterday’s devastation was a turning point for Noctis, and he feels as though he is drawing strength from the tragedy where he can. All things considered, he is handling it alright. He wonders how Ignis will interpret the signs in his face, in his step, in his word.

Standing in his own secrets, Noctis cannot help but think Ignis doesn’t know him anymore. He shakes off the thought. He is not a different person just because he’s has sex. And then Noctis cannot help but recall Gladio putting his dirty fingers in his mouth and he shudders and has to turn away from Ignis’ calculating eyes. He wonders if he smells like sex. Noctis steps a little closer to the flame and stirs.

He has to say something to ease him, but he’s crawling out of his skin in discomfort and it’s as distracting as it is disgusting.

“Ignis,” Noctis says, looking down at the food. “I’m the King now.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“The Crystal chose me.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Noct…” Iggy sighs. “You can't be nonchalant about this, we have to be prepared.”

Noctis turns around again, pointing the spoon at Ignis until Ignis is forced to take it from him. He puts his hands on his hips and squeezes as another sting of pain hits him from behind. He needs so badly for this conversation to be over.

“That's what I have you for.”

Ignis sighs back at him and Noctis cannot look at him without thinking about Gladio, hard and panting, dripping sweat against the black leather in the backseat of the Regalia.

“We’re gonna do it, Iggy,” he finally says. “We’re gonna be fine. With you, and Gladio, and Prompto, I’ll be able to do this. Now, I’d really prefer to leave the cooking to you.

“Mornings--” he says, pausing to think on all the things the night has to offer, “aren't really my thing.”

Noctis is relieved to see Ignis relax just enough that he doesn’t feel guilty leaving him at the stove. He’s not sure if he wholly believes the words he said, but at this point, Noctis would say anything to get a bath.

Trying to hide the hitch in his step, Noctis walks towards the water.

Gladio catches sight of Noctis while he is finishing his workout. He falters on his stretches, immediately certain that they had been caught last night and Ignis was too respectful to interrupt them. Surely, Ignis woke Noctis up to interrogate him.

He squints across the haven at the two of them standing by Ignis’ prep table as he continues stretching, wishing he could read their lips.

The shockingly normal greeting from Noctis puts his mind at ease for now, but Gladio’s head has been spinning all morning.

After a restless night of turning the last forty eight hours over in his mind, Gladio had to drag himself out of tent just before dawn to work out the constant spiral of frustration. Working out lets him zone out, lets him narrow in on one thing and fight.

This morning it’s _duty_ and, as it has been the past few days, _Noctis_.

Gladio knows his father would be disappointed in him for what he is starting to accept as a complete failure and betrayal of his sworn duty as the shield to Noctis. His father is gone now, and all Gladio can think of is the imagined look on his face if Gladio could tell him what he had done, how Noctis climbed in his lap and Gladio didn’t say no.

When Noctis is weak, Gladio is supposed to be strong. Noctis lost nearly everything yesterday and Gladio let himself be used for momentary relief. Because he wanted it too.

He worked his way through two hundred pushups at the crack of dawn, punishing the arms that wrapped around his King, two hundred squats to punish the legs that held up his King, and a grueling run to punish the heart that made him weak.

When Noctis finally breaks away from Ignis to move toward him, Gladio steels himself and approaches. Keeping his back straight and his expression serious, Gladio asks, “Are you okay?”

He knows the want for more private conversation is clear in his eyes, but Noctis refuses to meet them.

Noctis is facing away from him when he says, “I’m fine. I need a bath.”

And then Noctis leaves. Gladio walks back to the camp to face Ignis.

Down at the water, Noctis finds an outcropping of stone that he can shelter himself behind. He steps out of his pants and sets them aside, tugging his shirt over his head and pausing to bury his face in the soft material. Breathing deeply, he can smell the dried sweat. Noctis can’t help but feel like he is narrowly dodging a bullet with Ignis, and resolves to make sure he is capable and collected around his friends. He is… the King, after all, he may as well try to embrace it the role. He lets out the breath, and tosses the shirt to join his pants where they lay on the rock.

Noctis then slowly steps out of his boxers, letting them fall to the sand in disgust. He does not look down at them as he stalks naked towards the lake. He wades waist deep into the water and sighs shakily at the salty sting. He manifests a potion in his palm, and cracks it open on the back of his neck, letting the healing magic envelop him.

As the pain recedes, Noctis allows himself to fall backwards into the water, feeling the cool touch of it lap at his naked skin. He thinks about Gladio bathing in the cover of darkness, starlight washing over his skin. With satisfaction, Noctis thinks that Lucis is his land, or at least it will be again eventually. He’s the King, and if he wants to bathe nude in the daylight, he should be able to do damn well what he pleases. It's such a simple thing to demand from his land and it hurts no one.

After, Noctis leans back against the rock for several minutes to let the sun dry him. He keeps a hand cupped over his soft cock, not as much for the privacy as for the feeling. Looking down at himself, Noctis sees the faintest of bruises on his hips where Gladio had been clutching at him. Noctis can’t help but feel like a new person, with new understandings about the world around him. He feels like his vessel has cracked, and he’s suddenly able to let the repressed, contained parts of himself begin to trickle out. It feels much like when he was thirteen, and first began training in his magic, accessing things that had always been there that he had never known. He glances around the stunning landscape surrounding him, a part of Lucis, his home, that he’d never been before, and yet a part of it feels like _home_. His heart aches for Insomnia, but disrobed in nature, his body feels shocking free.

A very large part of Noctis hopes Gladio comes looking for him, but after the cold way Noctis dismissed him, he knows he won’t. Eventually the young King redresses himself, lights his ruined underwear on fire, and returns to camp.

Gladio goes through the motions of the morning: helping Ignis cook breakfast, cleaning up the campsite, loading everything into the Regalia as they take off to meet Cor in an outpost a few miles from Keycatrich Trench. There, they gather supplies and familiarize themselves with the terrain. Gladio does not say much, speaking when spoken to but otherwise remaining quiet. He expects Ignis to be the first one to see the shame in him, but Ignis seems too focused on creating the plan to notice that Gladio is any different.

All morning, his eyes track to Noctis when he thinks no one is looking at him. Noctis is almost too high functioning, talking to Prompto, planning the journey ahead with Ignis. He is taking to his new role well and without being scolded into it. Gladio watches him carefully trying to find the rift in the cement where his emotions might leak through. Surely, Noctis must be feeling devastated after their loss, Noctis must regret last night. But he doesn’t see it, even when they climb into the Regalia.

Gladio cannot get comfortable in his usual seat in the car. Just hours before, he was here with Noctis grinding down on his cock. His lap feels cold and empty with Noctis on the opposite side of the bench. It reminds him of the slap of regret he felt when Noctis retreated to that far seat last night to redress. The distance between them seems vast and prophetic.

Gladio rubs a hand over his face and refocuses. Noctis is the one he is worried about, not himself. That’s his job. Though he knows the prince is safe where he is slumped in his usual spot in the Regalia, Gladio cannot help but repeatedly check on him with short studying glances.

Gladio comes to life when he fights in honor of his King on the battlefield.

Gladio sticks to Noctis’ elbow when they meet with Cor, following him closely as they scout the edges of the Imperial base and cutting down every beast that comes within a few feet of the slighter man. Noctis is fighting well for himself, but all Gladio can see are the gaps in his training, how Prompto needs to stumble over to him twice to heal him, and the reckless way Noctis warps away from the group and into a beast. Gladio fights even harder for the King.

The sun is set when they finally make their way back to outpost, Gladio’s eyes peel over every shadowy corner and every civilian refueling their cars. The threat seems minimal for the moment, but they are not safe. The empire must have eyes everywhere. Gladio hawks over him, even when they sit down at the diner for a large meal and Gladio does not get to sit beside Noctis as he would have preferred, though he watches over the group carefully from beside a fidgety Prompto. His gaze scans around the diner and out the window to the dark, unpredictable road.

Noctis is trying to pay attention to Cor, he really is, but he’s struggling to focus. They’ve been at this diner for hours, their empty plates long ago collected, watered down drinks scattered ignored across the table surface. Ignis has taken the strategical reins and Noctis is more than happy to sit back and let him shine. He’s in his element, and has seemingly moved past any concerns he was harboring for Noctis this morning. He’s relieved, and it allows his thoughts to drift back to Gladio.

He’s been avoiding looking at his Shield, but he can only manage to go so long before curiosity gets the best of him. Every time Noctis looks his way, Gladio is already staring, his brows pulled tight and his jaw set in concern. Noctis sighs, knowing Gladio wants to talk about what happened. Once again, he would prefer to kiss him to than to talk about it.

But Noctis _does_ want to kiss him again. And _more_. _Much_ more. Now that they are done running around, Noctis spends the entire evening recounting pieces of the dream-like events from the night before with awe. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Gladio beneath him, inside of him, staring back at Noctis with a look he doesn’t have words for. Gladio had looked stunned, _taken_ , possessed, maybe. The memory is like a drug and Noctis almost falls asleep twice, his eyes shut, chasing that image in the darkness. Already, the weight of Gladio’s cock in his hands feels like a distant memory, and Noctis wants a refresher. He knows the only way he will be allowed to touch him again is to entertain Gladio’s desire for communication.

So he looks right at Gladio and speaks over Cor to say, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Gladio knows the signal immediately when he hears it. He waits a few long moments before excusing himself. No one else seems concerned by him leaving, too busy strategizing their next moves in low rumbling voices.

Gladio finds Noctis outside of the diner, standing just to the side of the building out of the light and concealed by darkness. Gladio sees him right away, even in shadow. Noctis does not look an anxious as Gladio feels, but he wears a loud, unreadable expression, his eyebrows furrowed down but his eyes wide.

Gladio wants this conversation, he wants to know Noctis is okay so they can move forward. It's late, and Gladio's body is tired, but his mind is on high alert.

“So. Declaring war on the imperial army tomorrow..”

Noctis steels himself against Gladio’s words. He fights the impulse to shut him up with his tongue, instead crossing his arms over his chest and looking out at the street. Today was just another surreal day in a new life that Noctis hardly recognizes as his own. He's trying his best, but he's leaning on Ignis whenever possible and he knows Cor is doubting his abilities. This isn't what he came out here to talk to Gladio about, and disappointment settles in his bones.

“You look like you’re taking to all of this pretty well,” Gladio tries.

“What choice do I have?” Noctis shrugs.

“You don’t, but you're taking initiative and you’re unemotional. You’re handling it like a true king.”

He sighs and faces Gladio then, letting the mask of stoicism he’s worn all day relax just slightly. The truth is, it’s all incredibly stressful, and Noctis isn’t sure he’s capable of any of the things Ignis and Cor are saying he must do. He resents his father for once again setting him on an irreversible path, one he has no say in. He misses his father, too, and in an attempt to channel him, he's being sure to seem underwhelmed by the war planning. Regis would have been calm and collected, but Noctis feels edgy and exhausted.

He tells Gladio, “I’m trying.”

“You’re following your path.”

Noctis winces, questioning the value of a pre-determined life, trying not to compare it to the freedom of the civilians he's supposed to rule over. Not for the first time today, Noctis imagines changing his name and running away with Gladio to live in the woods.

“I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Gladio puts a hand on Noctis’ arm. “You’re not alone.”

Noctis’ heart thuds heavy in his throat. He may not be in control of his life, but there is one decision he has made, and it's one he's not letting go of. He takes a step towards Gladio, leaning into his touch.

At that, Noctis’ expression softens. Gladio is proud of Noctis for holding to together today, but he is relieved to see the man underneath the stony mask of the king. There is the Noctis he knows. It allows him to ask, “Are you in pain?”

He is relieved when the conversation shifts topics, he wants to shake off the serious tone. Noctis is comforted by his words and his touch, just enough to tease him. He tells Gladio, “I was, but I cracked a potion down at the lake when I was cleaning your cum out of my ass.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it is too brash, too crude, and Gladio winces, reeling back from him. Noctis follows him, reaching out to catch Gladio’s arm.

“No, Gladio, I’m fine,” he assures him, his words rushing out in a flood of regret, desperate to keep Gladio from pulling away from him. It's just like him to be insincere when the people he cares about need it the least. Noctis tries to correct himself, telling Gladio, “I'm good. I liked it. I want to do it again.”

Gladio still looks uncertain, his body stiff at his words. Noctis pulls his hand away, suddenly feeling judged for what he said, a flare of shame for wanting more bubbles up inside of him.

He takes a deep breath and sets his shoulders.

“Look, Gladio… all of this is hard enough as it is. I just want to indulge in something that makes me feel good. Don't withhold this from me.”

The tension in Gladio’s jaw releases as he realizes that Noctis really liked what transpired between them last night. He isn’t filled with regret, he is looking for more. It brings up another complication.

“I'm supposed to look out for you and make the right decisions. This is dangerous. You and I, the King and his Shield should not make themselves vulnerable.” Even as he solemnly speaks the words, Gladio can tell by the determined set in Noctis’ eyes and shoulders that he cannot be swayed. Noctis looks even more serious about this as he does about the invasion plans being made in the diner. He does not say anything.

Maybe Noctis is thinking clearly. At the end of the day, he is King, and Gladio needs to heed him.

“Tell me you’ve thought this through.”

Noctis nods. He actually hasn't thought much past the certain resolve he has come to during the day, but certain he is-- that he needs to indulge in Gladio again, that the power Gladio could help him find there was somehow the answer to so much of his insecurity.

“I know what I want. I know you can protect me and give me what I need, Gladio. You always have.”

Noctis stares up at him, feeling a little small for his own sincerity. Even through the darkness of the night, Gladio’s eyes are burning bright as they bore into him, and it makes Noctis feel stripped bare. He leans into the feeling.

Gladio leans in closer to Noctis to read his eyes carefully as his hands wrap around Noctis’ warm biceps to roll his shoulders back, but he finds that Noctis is already standing with nearly perfect posture.

Noctis’ gaze is unwavering. His mouth is a serious line that draws Gladio in like a siren call. Noctis’ lips are soft and when Gladio presses further into him, he finds the comforting wet heat he realizes he missed so much since last night. Gladio pulls back to search his eyes, finding no fear. “I’ve already pledged my life to you. You can have all of me, Your Highness.”

Everything Noctis had been holding in comes rushing out in a long sigh when Gladio kisses him, his body melting into Gladio’s grip, letting him press him back against the wall. For a moment, he is entirely carefree, his world existing of only Gladio as he looks above him, blocking the light from the diner’s neon sign. He lays his hands on Gladio’s shoulders, beneath his shirt.

His body reacts to him immediately, blood rushing to his groin. Noctis’ skin feels hot and cold at the same time. He feels like he can't breathe, but it's strangely a good feeling. Gladio pulls away from him and says words so sweet Noctis’s can feel his pupils opening to take the speaker in.

“Then I know I'm gonna be fine,” Noctis says softly.

He pulls Gladio’s body back into his against the wall, pressing his hardening cock into Gladio’s hips. Regretfully, he says, “We should be getting back.”

Gladio tightens his grip on his biceps, examining the expression on his face. The longing he finds there sets him into motion. Gladio steps back and looks around, assessing the threat and quickly identifying a dark corner in the backside of the diner. No windows in sight. No person around. Perfect.

Gladio drags Noctis with him past a stack of boxes and crowds him up against the concrete wall. His presses his body up against Noctis’ small frame and lands a open-mouthed kiss against his neck and drags his lips up to Noctis’ ear. “Hang on.”

He drops to his knees and tugs open the fastenings of Noctis’ pants, not wasting a second before pulling out Noctis’ half hard cock and enveloping him in his mouth.

At first, Noctis doesn't know what's happening when Gladio drags him away, but he figures it out pretty quickly. He glances around at the empty parking lot and the dark street before his wide eyes slide back down to Gladio, his face at his crotch while his hands tug open Noctis’ pants. Noctis is in awe that Gladio would drop to his knees in the middle of a parking lot to give him a blowjob. He fucking loves it. When the slick heat of his mouth consumes him, it feels so good that his hips reach into it involuntarily, his shaking hands falling to Gladio’s head, needing to hold onto the feeling.

Noctis gasps above him, bucking his hips into Gladio’s face. Gladio grunts and pushes the narrow hips back against the wall, holding them there, and sparing a quick glance up at Noctis’ face to make sure he is alright. What he sees thrills him. Gladio deftly works his tongue and bobs his head. They don’t have a lot of time and Gladio wants to make sure he gives the King what he needs.

Gladio relaxes his throat and takes Noctis to the root. His knees ache, his arms strain to keep Noctis in place. It’s rewarding to serve his King like this and if Noctis wants this change in their relationship, Gladio is going to give him every part of himself. The stolen moments with other men are now old stepping stones to form the path here, with Noctis, making his King’s knees weak.

It doesn’t take long, less than a minute. Noctis is reacting gorgeously, his hands knotted in Gladio’s long hair and his hips fighting against the hold to dig his dick deeper into Gladio’s willing mouth. When he comes, Gladio moans and drinks him down. He wipes his mouth and stands up to kiss Noctis with the salty taste on his lips.

Gladio knocks their foreheads together and grins at him. “You like that?”

Noctis’ mouth hangs open, he knows he’s smiling. He doesn't care. It was so fast, so good, an explosion of pleasure. Gladio knelt before him, took him in his hands and his mouth and transformed him in moments. He has never experienced anything like it.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “I like that.”

He licks his lips, savoring the taste of his own pleasure from Gladio's mouth. When he pushes his still exposed cock into Gladio’s hands, Gladio deftly tucks him away and it allows Noctis to keep his hands in his knotted in his locks for a few moments longer.

They separate and Noctis watches Gladio runs his hands through his hair and over his lips. Noctis cannot take his eyes off of his face, his _mouth_.

“Let’s go back before someone sends Prompto after us.”

They walk back toward the diner, and Noctis feels hyper-aware of his surroundings. His skin is sensitive, and he has a thrumming energy coursing through him. Things have changed, Noctis thinks, sparing a glance at Gladio as they enter the restaurant. He likes how they've changed.

No one says anything about their absence. Based on conversation, it doesn't seem like they missed much. They weren't gone very long. Noctis feels a jolt of thrill at the thought that he could enjoy Gladio more often than originally seemed. He looks across the table at Gladio and meets his potent gaze. Noctis smirks and turns away from him, bumping his boot against his under the table.

Feeling surprisingly focused, Noctis turns his attention to the plan.

At night, they rent a camper near the outpost and park the Regalia behind it at Cor’s strong suggestion. He told them the Empire is crawling through Eos and there is a base nearby, that they cannot afford to be seen before they infiltrate. Gladio knows the risks. He knows the time has come to rise to his duty, that they will just press forward until they are stopped. He knows that death could be imminent. Which is why it’s so frustrating to not be able to sleep beside Noctis.

The camper is small with just a double bed in the back and two benches for sitting that can fit a contorted human body. It’s understood that Noctis will take the bed. Gladio concedes that Prompto is the best person to fit in the bed with him. He’s small and less prepared for danger. In the bed, they should be safe. Ignis can barely fit in his bench, but Gladio cannot fit at all. He props a pillow over the side of the bench and essentially sits in the dark, listening, waiting.

He wants to selfishly indulge in the aftercare he didn’t get to give to Noctis after their fast hookup behind the diner. They wouldn’t be able to do much in the bed except be close to each other and maybe Gladio could have let Noctis lay his head on his chest until he fell asleep again.

From where he is, he can barely even see Noctis. He is faced away from the bed to keep a steadfast eye on the door, and craning his neck only gives him a view of feet and lumps in the blanket where Noctis and Prompto are curled up.

Gladio doesn’t sleep that night. He is awake thinking, replaying recent events over in his mind. Noctis seems so confident about the two of them, he thinks it must be an act the whole thing must be an emotional rebound, except that Noctis showed him clear signs of wanting this before Insomnia fell, and the smiles he gives Gladio when he thinks no one is watching are full of adoration and genuine emotion, it shocks Gladio to look at him sometimes after all the years of minimal eye contact and frowning. Gladio wants to raise him up on the battlefield and to his throne and then peel off the stoic layers and have his red faced and panting Noctis to himself at the end of the day. Gladio wants more of Noctis.

-

The next morning, Noctis stands close to Ignis, speaking softly. Cor waits for them beside the stone ruins of the Imperial base, ready for them to squeeze through the narrow doorway and infiltrate. Gladio lingers near Prompto, off to the side, looking as pissed as Noctis feels nervous that he's not allowed to accompany them on this mission.

Ignis touches Noctis’ elbow and fixes him in place with a grave and determined expression. “The Lucis family has many enemies, you have never faced something like this before.”

Noctis doesn’t say anything.

“You are the last of the Lucis bloodline, take back what is rightfully yours…”

Noctis’ eyes flit to Gladio.

“...or perish fighting for what is right.”

Noctis looks back to Ignis and is met with an inexplicable urge to kiss his oldest friend. He reaches out a hand instead, and Ignis takes it.

“We are all beside you, Noctis. Every step of the way,” Ignis’ eyes are dark, his brow set low. “Do not forget that.”

They shake, and then Ignis’ hand falls out of his. Noctis manifests his sword in its place. Noctis has lost many things, but he has not yet lost the things most important to him, and today will not be that day.

Gladio fixes him with a smirk portraying confidence. Privately, he wants to demand to go with Noctis, but he knows Prompto and Ignis need him more than Noctis does. “You go give ‘em hell. We’ll do the same on our end.”

Noctis and Cor descend to declare war in his name.

Within the heart of the base, Noctis is required to kill a human being for the first time. He kills sixteen. With Ignis’ words in his head and Gladio’s power in his heart, he finds it easier to do than he expected.

Knowing that Noctis is about to fight an army spurs Gladio forward, but he wishes he were with him. He is supposed to watch Noctis’ back but instead he is keeping an eye on things while Ignis creates distractions and Noctis is left with Cor. Back in Insomnia, Gladio would trust Cor with his life, but out here is the wake of warzone, Gladio trusts no one fully but himself, Prompto, and Ignis to watch out for the King.

When the sirens ring out, Gladio’s stomach fills with dread that’s only eased when he sees Noctis running toward him. Gladio grabs his arm when Noctis stops in the group, wild eyed and white knuckling his newly acquired Axe of the Conqueror.

Their frantic eyes barely connect for a moment, Noctis quickly catching up the group on what happened, and then a ship approaches and a giant mecha steps out and Gladio feels like he has been warped into a new life. He gives Noctis’ arm a quick squeezes and lets go to brace himself.

Noctis’ magic is his strong point, but Gladio hates every time Noctis warps out of his protection. Gladio heaves through the battlefield, slicing into soldiers and eventually the legs of the giant mech. Noctis is popping in and out, Gladio can barely keep tabs on him as he warps to the snipers, to the arm of the mech, to the soldiers on the ground, back to the snipers, to a warp point where he can recover before starting the cycle over. Worrying about it makes his head spin, so he pushes forward, hacking at the mech until it falls and keeping Noctis in the corner of his eye so he can run to him if he needs help.

Never once does Noctis doubt their success that day. Distantly, he knows his life is at stake, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. If they continue fighting until the end, they will have won. Like Ignis said, _perish fighting for what is right_. Plus, they don't perish, they cut down soldier after soldier, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. Hunting beasts is one thing, but hunting the people who killed his father, Clarus, and everyone else is another entirely. It's satisfying.

When he's reunited with his men, his magic burns hot and electric inside of him, the very core of him on the defense with those he cares about the most on his flanks. Noct spends the entire battle riding his ice blue comet trails. He uses every surge of it he's got, warping and healing his brothers and dirtying every blade in his growing arsenal. For the first time since this ordeal began, Noctis believes what Gladio told him about successfully reclaiming their home. He knows it will be a long road, but he begins to consider the possibility of it ending in glory, rather than death.

With Loqi put to rest, Noctis is finally able to meet Gladio’s eyes, and the awe they hold makes Noctis face burn, even through the cool mask of imperial blood that he wears. He turns away from him for Prompto, who awaits his help, but Noctis turns that expression over in his head and thinks

 _You ain't seen nothing yet_.

-

Ignis drives them to an outpost and lets them splurge on a motel room. They gorge themselves on steamed rice and fish and cup noodle sitting around the small writing table in the small room.

“That guy was like, _it’s past time your legend comes to an end_ ,” Prompto says with a affected dialect. “And you were zippin’ all over the base, Noct, taking out guys all over the place and knocking down snipers. Then, _you_ made _his_ legend come to an end!”

Gladio bites, “Noctis did everything and the rest of us did squat, is that what I’m hearing?”

Prompto flinches back before he realizes Gladio is joking. Prompto laughs and slaps Gladio on the shoulder. “I saw you cut like three dudes in half with one swing of your _mighty_ sword. You’re terrifying on the field.”

“Kid, I saw you shoot an MT right in it’s soulless eye.”

“And Ignis!” Prompto sings, “Slicing down armored soldiers with, like, kitchen knives.”

Ignis clears his throat, the barest twitch of a flattered smile in the corner of his lip and glistening in his eyes. “Yes, we all did very well. But you know this was only the beginning. Our good fortune may run out when the Imperial Army is prepared for an attack.”

Prompto’s lips snap shut. He nods his head like a bird.

Gladio raises his beer bottle toward Ignis. “To the next battle. And the one after that. And the one after that. Until our good luck runs out.”

“No.” Ignis shakes his head. He raises his drink to the center of the group. “To our King.”

“Aye aye!” Prompto cheers, punching his bottle into the air.

Gladio and Noctis’ eyes meet and Gladio smirks to him as he tips his glass to Noctis and swallows the rest of his drink. His own face feels warm from the gorgeous blue eyes looking into him.

The longer the men retell stories, the more Noctis begins to vibrate in his seat. Catching Gladio’s eyes across the table, Noctis’ eyes skip from him to the door.

Gladio doesn't hesitate to answer Noctis’ call. He does not want Noctis to go anywhere unattended, so he excuses himself before the other man can. “Lemme get us some ice.”

The motel’s ice machine is in a small, doorless room at the end of the hall. Gladio eyes the space, evaluating the danger.

Noctis counts to ten as slowly as he can, and then he rises. He can’t think of anything to say to Ignis and Prompto, so he says nothing.

“Stay inside the motel,” Ignis says to him, and he gestures yeah, yeah, trying his best to deny Ignis the eye contact he is seeking.

Noctis follows the signs around the corner. He can hear Gladio filling the ice bucket, pausing every few seconds to undoubtedly listen for footsteps. without preamble, Noctis steps into the room behind Gladio.

“Hey.”

He smiles. “Hey. C’mere.”

Gladio waves Noctis over to him, and grabs his bony elbows when he is within reach. He glances over his shoulder at the empty doorway before kissing him. Their lips slide together and Gladio feels a tension release from his body to be alone with Noctis. He puts his trust and his strength in them. Gladio walks him to the wall and presses him there to reach deeper into his mouth.

Noctis sighs into him, hands coming to land on Gladio’s thick biceps while they kiss. There is a power coursing through Noctis from the day, from their victory, from his men toasting him, and his body shakes with anticipation. Gladio’s mouth is hot, and wet, and moving against his tongue and teeth in erotic ways and Noctis knew what he wanted before they left the room but now, he cannot wait.

Like a blessing, Noctis places his hand on the top of Gladio’s head and pushes him down. “On your knees for the King, Big Guy,” he says.

Gladio drops down without complaint and looks up at him with such compliance. The sight alone of Gladio on his knees has Noct getting harder with each heartbeat.

“Your Majesty?” he asks, his voice low and hopeful.

“Suck me.”

Gladio grins. “Yes, sir.”

Gladio deftly opens his the fastenings of Noctis’ pants and takes him into his mouth. Noctis quickly hardens in his mouth from half mast to solid hot flesh. Noctis is beside himself. He could have died today, they all could have, but they didn’t, and Noctis has never been happier to be alive with his men and their glory. And on top of that, to have a Shield that will fall to willingly to his knees to serve him, to touch him in way Noctis would allow no other to touch him. The young king cannot help but slump back against the wall, and Gladio catches him with one hand, holding him there.

Gladio wraps his hand around him and strokes him into his mouth, working his tongue over the head until Noctis is hard enough for him to fuck his face on his cock. He peers up at Noctis, taking in his pink cheeks and soft gaze. Noctis’ fingers are knotted in his hair, but aren’t guiding him, just holding on. Gladio reaches up the grasp the hand and pulls him forward, sucking down more of his cock. Noctis seems to get the idea. His grip tightens and he moves Gladio on him.

Something happens when Gladio shows Noctis how to use him to pleasure himself. Gladio presses his tongue firmly against him and Noctis cinches his fingers in his hair and fucks him over his cock. He moans, staring down at the picture, at the source of the unbelievable pleasure, Gladio’s amber eyes cast upward through his eyelashes as Noct penetrates him. It is otherworldly, that Gladio can make him feel like this. It gives Noctis the irresistible desire to be the one on his knees, to put his mouth on such a dirty thing and suck Gladio dry, too. When he suddenly cums, he is thinking about Gladio’s giant cock stretching his mouth wide, he is thinking about gagging while he struggles to swallow him.

Gladio takes it in stride, working his tongue and throat over him. The pleasure is building in him quickly, he can feel it in the spurts of precum on his tongue and the twitch of his cock between his lips. It takes no time at all before Noctis is moaning and releasing in his mouth. Gladio swallows every drop of him and grins up at him to admire the relaxed expression on his King’s face.

Noctis looks down at the smug grin on Gladio’s face, so full of adoration and respect that Noctis feels like he could kill sixteen- _hundred_ men. Would Gladio feel that way, too? Would fucking his hard cock into Noct’s open and wanting mouth make Gladio feel like a King? He’s going to find out. Noct tucks himself away, and still breathless from his release, tugs Gladio to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

When he kisses Gladio again, he can taste his own salty skin in his mouth. He needs to know what Gladio tastes like. He needs to feel the exchange of power of dropping to his knees and kissing his cock. Noct’s hands skate a rushed path over his chest and abdomen until they lay over the solid bulge beneath Gladio’s jeans. He is delighted to find him erect. He grabs at him through the fabric, desperately fumbling for the zipper.

Gladio almost gives into him, it feels so good to have Noctis’ hot little hand pressing into his arousal. He’s so hard from blowing him.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Gladio says, pained to reel himself in. He breaks the kiss and steps out from Noctis’ grasp. “I don’t think we have the time for that.”

This gives Noctis pause and a frown crosses his pretty face. Gladio wants to give into him.

“You’re… fast,” Gladio explains. “They’ll eventually come looking for us.”

He doesn’t seem to be reaching Noctis, the other man just shrugging and eying him up and down like he has not heard a word Gladio said.

“Behind the motel then,” He offers, stepping into Gladio’s body again and petting his hands over Gladio’s cock through his pants.

Gladio grabs his shoulders in his powerful grip and tries to level him with a serious frown and harsh words. “You can’t leave the motel, Noctis. Today was very dangerous. Look at me.”

Noctis is finally meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t stop stroking him.

“People are looking for you,” Gladio says quietly. “People who want to kill you. They’re not going to stop until they do and there’s a fuck of a lot more of them than there are us.”

Noctis knows Gladio will not be convinced, but the bruising grip on his shoulders is almost worth making him anxious. That he may enjoy it a little longer, Noctis petulantly adds, “then why not live for the moment?”

Gladio shakes him firmly.

“Because it’s not safe, Noct. I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

Noctis frowns, but concedes.

“I promise you this won’t be the last time.”

Gladio leads him back into the motel room with the ice bucket in tow. He sticks to his elbow as they walk down the hallway, his eyes peeled for any threats. Someone with the empire could be watching them at any point. There is no guarantee that there is not someone keeping tabs on them from a distance.

“What are you doing?” Prompto asks with a small laugh when Gladio grabs hold of a a double bed and slides it up against the wall. Gladio double checks that the curtains are closed.

“Gotta make sure princess here is out of harm’s way, far from the windows, far from the doors.”

Noctis huffs, but doesn’t protest, watching with appreciation as Gladio heaves an entire bed with little effort.

When they finally turn off the lights, Gladio ushers Noctis into the bed against the wall and lays on the outside. He climbs onto the mattress knowing that is they were to be attacked, Gladio would be shot before his King.

They lay on their sides, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness on the planes of each other’s faces. Like the first night, Gladio rests a hand on Noctis’ arm. As the breaths across the room even out, Gladio shifts closer to Noctis, squirming a thick bicep under Noctis’ head in place of a pillow. They were victorious today, but the future is ominous and Gladio wants to savor his short time with Noctis. Gladio cranes his neck to plant a kiss on Noctis’ forehead.

Noctis has felt powerful most of the day, but when Gladio kisses his forehead, Noctis feels weak to him. Logistically, Gladio _belongs_ to him, has taken a life-long oath to serve him. Noctis has known this for years, but now that they’ve crossed this bridge together, he feels a new gravity pulling him into Gladio’s orbit. His journey to Kingdom is uncertain and undoubtedly rife with peril, but Gladio will never leave him, not until the very end, and the thought gives Noctis satisfaction. Gladio’s touch can make him feel weak and that’s okay, because he also makes him feel _safe_.

Noctis wants him so badly.

Gladio sighs when Noctis lays a hand over his cock through his sleep shorts. They can’t. Not with their friends in the next bed and it’s too dangerous for them to step out of the room without the other two being notified. He grabs Noctis’ wrist and regretfully pulls his hand away, laying it platonically on his chest.

When the persistent little hand trails down his body, Gladio grunts softly and untangles their limbs to roll away from him. Within moments, Noctis is pressed up against his back, his face pressed into Gladio’s naked shoulder blade and the hand he lay on his ribs drags down to the crotch of his sleep shorts again.

Gladio grips his wrist tight and pulls him away. He turns over his shoulder and says quietly but firmly, “Not tonight.”

Finally, Noctis concedes, but he remains pressed into Gladio’s back behind the wall of his body where their roommates cannot see. After a few quiet moments, fingers tug on his necklace, spinning it so the x pendant is on his back. Gladio can feel him turning it over in his hands, and he closes his eyes and listens to Noctis breathe.

Noctis’ hands move slower as he approaches sleep, and soon he is out, his fingers still wrapped in the beaded necklace, pulling it tight around Gladio’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story! Two chapters left. Yell at/with us at @feral-days and @df-starboy on Tumblr.


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